This Game We Play
by kirkmills
Summary: A Murder. A Visitation. A Family Dinner. When the citizens of Storybrooke are shaken by a mysterious but deadly invite, Emma finds herself heading up the investigation on a seemingly unsolvable case. Though the Sheriff of Storybrooke would probably rather face the strange spirits invading her town than the toubles of her own personal life. SQBB April 2014.
1. The Party at Town Hall

**A/N: I wanted to write in a Post Neverland timeline, but not have to waste time writing around the dreaded love triangle. So I made the creative decision that niether Hook nor Neal have made an appearance in Storybrooke. Rumpel also did not return from Neverland with everyone else, so isn't around. Some might call this cheating, I call it taking creative liberties. It means you get more Swan Queen anyway.**

**Huge massive eternal thank yous to my fantastic beta Maria (ohthesefeelingz). The woman is a legend. She took me to school and then some. Also a mention must go to the Cristina to my Cristina - because we struggled through this together.**

**Check out the mix for this story by jay-sanch at the SQBB tumblr.**

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

It's a cold, windy November day in Storybrooke, Maine. The town's inhabitants go about business as usual, bundled up in huge variants of scarves, hats, and other assorted knitwear. The sky is gray, the threat of yet another rain storm clouding the sky. Despite the grayness in the sky though, there's a general excitement hanging in the air as December – and the festive season it brings with it – grows ever closer. For the longest time things in the strange town have been difficult, unsettled, but things finally seem to be calming down – and it hasn't gone unnoticed. Quite to the contrary, this re-descent into boring normality is greatly appreciated by some.

Obadiah Jenkins had never been one for adventure – even in his old life. In Storybrooke he was just a kid from the orphanage, under the care of the nuns. In the Enchanted Forest he'd never been much better off, though at least back there the orphanages hadn't been run by prudish nuns. He was fifteen years old – he knew how to take care of himself – and the constant fussing, rules and regulations they enforced on him (and all the charges under their care for that matter) got more than a little infuriating.

The boy shivers, pulling his sleeves further down his fingers with his stiffening thumbs – careful not to let go of the handles of his death-trap of a bicycle. He wasn't an idiot, he knew how to ride a bike, but the rusty, rickety Ciocc Mockba he'd had for his paper rounds ever since he could remember (most likely because his part-time job had come part and parcel with the curse that made him Obadiah Jenkins) had barely been in one piece twenty eight years ago. Nowadays it was truly a wonder to him that it didn't fall apart every time he sat on it.

In the distance there's a low rumble of thunder, and he grumbles as he looks up at the sky – it's going to start raining again, and then he's going to get _wet_. If there's one thing Obadiah Jenkins hates, it's getting rained on. It's probably a little ironic then, that he has a job which keeps him outdoors, summer and winter, in _Maine_ of all places.

He rides along a little further, coming up on Mifflin Street – almost done. The wind's picking up as he travels down the deserted street, and as he approaches the end he watches in a strange mixture of awe and annoyance as the last paper he threw is picked up by a particularly violent gust and swept up into a tree.

"Oh you've gotta be kidding me," he grumbles under his breath, practically launching himself off the bike and heading for the tree, watching with hardly-veiled distain as it falls over with a loud, whining clang.

"Piece o' crap," he snaps over his shoulder, pulling the zipper on his jacket up with a little more force than necessary.

He takes two or three more steps towards the tree before stopping abruptly – actually taking his surroundings into account. His eyes widen as he actually looks at where the damned paper has lodged itself. It's no ordinary tree, that's for sure – it's a beautifully pruned and attended apple tree. One he passes everyday (just a little slower than all the other trees on this street, if he's being honest) and whose owner he knows will most assuredly _not_ be happy to see him clambering around in it. Unfortunately for him though, the paper's lodged up high – higher than he can reach from the ground – and there's no way to get to it _without_ climbing. He could leave it there, of course, just let someone not get their Daily Mirror today – but the last time he did, the lecture he got from the Mother Superior – no, _Blue_ – had been mind-numbing to the point where he promised both her and himself that from then on he'd just do his stupid job.

Nope, that paper's gonna have to come down – and that means that he is gonna have to go _up_.

The teen reaches forward with his frozen fingers, reaching for a handhold in the lower branches before hoisting himself up carefully into them. He scrambles up the narrow boughs, wincing and cursing internally as the smaller branches and twigs scratch at his face. He doesn't know what kind of awful luck he has that the paper is in about the most difficult to reach place in the entire tree. He scrambles forward until he's clinging to a branch that he's pretty sure was never meant to hold fifteen year old boys – and then a movement in the corner of his vision catches his attention.

His head snaps up, his eyes widening as his mind digests just what he's seeing. The mansion's dark, except for one window glowing with soft yellow light, and in that window Obie can just make out a tangle of flesh and limbs. His eyes widen further still as the bodies move, falling into an illuminating beam of light, and as they move he sees a flash of breasts pushed flush against each other.

Obie almost falls out of the tree. That's a woman. The person who Regina Mills has pressed naked against her window is a _woman_. If Obie's being honest – he's always had a thing for the Mayor. Milla always used to tease him it was because he had 'Mommy Issues' – that he'd never had a maternal figure and Regina's stern nature was what got him attracted to her. He maintained it was the fact that she was _hot_. Either way, he'd never imagined he'd actually get to see her in this position – and with another woman – if his fingers weren't frozen stiff he'd have to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't just another of his many lurid dreams about the woman.

Instead he just shakes his head, eyes returning immediately to the two figures in the window – paper long forgotten – unable to tear his eyes away from the way the Mayor is sucking on the other woman's neck, hands tangling into her blonde curls.

He's so distracted by the tangle of flesh in the window that he doesn't hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps crunching on the frosted leaves below.

"Did mommy never tell you spying is a truly despicable habit?"

This time Obie does fall out of the tree. He spins around on the branch, losing his grip and landing flat on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. The owner of the voice walks towards him, towering over him. They're dressed in basic skinnies and a pea coat, but he can't really make out anything else – it occurs to him vaguely that maybe he's concussed.

"Oh, that's right, you never had a mommy."

He coughs, trying to breathe in enough air for a response – but before he can open his mouth to speak, the figure's retreating again, only stopping when they reach the Mockba.

"Piece of crap, this," they drawl, giving it a kick and watching the rust flake off, "you should watch yourself – wouldn't want you to get hurt."

He coughs again, sitting half-up to stare after the figure as they head back off down the street – still unable to make out their face.

It takes him another few minutes, but eventually he manages to sit up. Unable to resist the temptation, he turns back to the window – but Regina and her blonde lover have disappeared, apparently unaware of anything happening in the garden just outside. He sighs heavily, scrambling off the floor, and groaning as his back protests the movement. He casts a furtive look up only to see the paper still lodged firmly in the tree's branches – sitting there as if mocking him. It isn't worth it. He's frozen down to the bone, his back already aching, and he just wants to go home.

He drags himself back over to his bike, pulling the contraption off the ground with a little more force than necessary. Blue's going to kill him, he thinks as he climbs onto the bike and heads back the way he came, but he doesn't really care anymore. A few minutes ago he'd thought he was in a dream, now he just feels tired, sore, and – if he's being honest – a little creeped out.

The bike creaks in protest as he rides home, the frozen gears not quite up to the work, but Obie still peddles faster than comfortable for his aching back – unable to shake the feel of something watching him the entire way.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Emma Swan's running late. She's always running late if she's honest – but she's never felt like that's really her fault. Anyone would be perpetually late if their job was as perpetually boring as hers. It's not that she's not suited to being Sheriff – she is – but Storybrooke's crime rate has been getting steadily lower since the breaking of the curse, and these days she's lucky if she gets to make a DUI arrest a week. Most days the most exciting thing that happens is Alex sicking up on Thomas' paperwork. At least having Alex around the place makes things a little more interesting though – even if she does feel more like a babysitter than a Sheriff.

Emma had been a little shocked to come back from Neverland and find that Ruby had re-populated the station in their absence. The expression on Ruby's face when she'd reluctantly handed back the golden Sheriff's badge had been priceless, and her temporary deputies had all fallen about with laughter. She'd felt bad about having to relieve them of their duties when she and David were back, but she just didn't have the budget to keep them all there. Ruby, Jefferson, and Lilly still had their other jobs – and Thomas (firmly re-attached to his old name since the curse breaking) had Alex to support – so in the end he was the one she kept on full time, though the other three were always around as backup support. Of course she hadn't banked on hiring Thomas meaning she was also hiring his two and a half year old daughter as well – but since Ashley had picked up a job at the school, and the Sheriff's station wasn't exactly tight on professionalism, it made sense for Thomas to take Alex in the day.

Emma grabs for something to eat off the kitchen counter, only to make a disgusted face and toss it back when she realizes the item she picked up is an orange. She'll just swing by Granny's and grab a bearclaw instead. She picks her leather jacket up from where she flung it on a chair the night before, enjoying the feeling of no longer having to search for it. One thing she most assuredly does not miss about living with Mary Margaret – being tidied up after. She shrugs into the jacket and taps the pocket, confirming the location of her car keys before finally stumbling – a little too literally for her liking – out of the front door.

She doesn't lock it behind her – she never does. It seriously does depress her some days how pathetically low Storybrooke's crime rate is. She needs some excitement, something to get her blood running again. She hates to admit it – considering the circumstances that took them there – but she misses Neverland. She misses the action, the excitement, the thrill of the chase. She misses the way they all combined their talents and put their differences aside, the way that they worked together – like a team. Most of all, though she's even more loathe to admit it, she misses working with Regina. She misses the way they bounced off each other, the way their techniques differed and yet somehow complimented each other, the way their magic felt when it was combined. Not that the magic is something she really wants to repeat – it scares her, the power within her – and she knows that using it comes with a price. She just wishes there was a way she and her son's other mother could work like that again. She liked being a team.

Emma shakes her head. It's silly, a silly thing to miss. She should be grateful – she _is_ grateful – grateful to be home and safe and with Henry, but she never counted on having to compromise between safety and excitement.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, praying it's not another call from Nova about the convent's cat being stuck in a tree – she already has enough scars thanks to that fleabag.

"Sheriff Swan," she answers, not even bothering to check the caller ID.

"Emma, thank God! Where are you? Did you get one too?" It's David on the other end, sounding frantic and, frankly, a little scared. She sends up a silent prayer to whatever entities might be chilling in the clouds above her _please, please be something good_.

"Did I get one what?" she asks, keeping her voice steady, trying not to let the hint of excitement building within her slip through into her voice.

"An invite," he replies, as if it were obvious. Emma deflates, it's clearly not even work related.

"An invite to what?" she asks warily. "Please God tell me that Archie isn't having another poetry reading. I swear if I have to listen to him jabbering on about the feel of grass beneath his tiny feet one more time I will shoot the goddamn cricket right where it hurts."

"What? No, Emma, have you checked your mail this morning?"

She frowns – David normally would have scolded her for that, or at least laughed. Maybe something really is happening.

"Mail?" she asks, interest peaking once again. "No, why?"

David's gulp is audible. "Check it," he replies quietly. Emma's frown deepens but she walks along her path to the mailbox anyway, shifting her phone to her shoulder and tilting her head to keep it there so as to free up her hands and open it.

There's an envelope in there. Strange, she and Henry rarely get any mail – it's not like Amazon delivers to Storybrooke. She pulls it out and examines it carefully. The envelope simply reads '_Miss Swan_' in a strange swirling cursive and she begins to feel just the slightest hint uncomfortable. She opens it carefully, keeping the phone balanced on her shoulder, and pulls out the contents – a small rectangular piece of cream colored card – flipping it over so she can read it.

Her green eyes narrow and then widen as she takes in the swirling letters, reading them over once, twice, three times to try and comprehend their meaning. Or rather, their implications.

**_Miss Swan_**, it reads.

**_It is my greatest pleasure to invite you, dear citizen, to a murder. Thursday November 21st at 21.30 sharp. Location to be announced. I do so hope to have the honor of your company._**

**_Yours,_**

**_Murderer_**

She blinks at the words, as if it might make them go in better. They're typed, all except her name which is written in that same strange swirling handwriting as the envelope. As for what they mean, she simultaneously does not understand them, and thinks that there can be no question as to their meaning.

"Emma?" David's voice in her ear rouses her from her daze. "You still there?"

"Y-yeah, here, sorry."

"Did you find it?"

She nods before realizing that, of course, he can't see her and coughs out a slightly strangled 'yeah'.

"What does it mean?" she asks, voice still quiet.

There's the slightest rustle of fabric from the other end and she guesses he's shrugging, also forgetting the action can't be seen. _I guess I get that from him then_, she thinks with a tiny smile.

"Who got them?" she asks, trying to shake off the ever-growing feeling of unease the invite has brought her.

"Everyone," he replies with a long breath, "the whole town if the mob outside the station is anything to go on."

That gets her attention. "Mob?" she asks

"People are panicking, they're all pounding our doors asking for an explanation. You need to get here, Emma, the people need to see their Sheriff."

"I'm not their leader," she snaps back immediately, hating the responsibility her parents seem desperate to throw on her every time there's the slightest hint of a crisis. "I can't comfort them."

"Well it's you they're calling for," he replies simply, "it's not me they want to talk to, Emma."

She sighs heavily, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Fine, fine. I'm on my way just…just do your best to calm them down, yeah?"

"Sure thing," he replies and she hangs up quickly.

She takes another breath and then feels a smile spreading across her face. So maybe it wasn't exactly what she was expecting, and maybe she's a little creeped out – but hey, at least something is _happening_ finally. She _was_ just wishing for it after all. Emma shakes her head before turning it heavenwards and mouthing 'thank you' at the sky – even she's not sure whether it's sarcastic or not.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"_Nothing_?"

Ruby shakes her head and Emma lets out a frustrated growl. "How can there be no scent on _any_ of them? That doesn't make any sense, Rubes."

The brunette just shrugs apologetically. "You don't have to tell me. It's weird but…" She shakes her head sadly. "I guess there's nothing we can do about it."

Emma harrumphs and kicks at her waste bin before collapsing into her chair – whatever gratitude she was feeling for this case dissipating entirely. "I can't wait to tell the town," she bites out sarcastically, swatting at one of the many piles of invites on her desk, "I'm sure they'll just love knowing their police force have no answers for them."

Ruby smiles sympathetically and lowers herself to perch on the edge of the desk. "Maybe you shouldn't tell them."

Emma's head snaps up. "What?"

Ruby shrugs again. "Look for all we know this is just some sick practical joke – in fact that's actually the most likely explanation – so why not just tell them that? Tell them that with no further evidence of threat the Sheriff's station are taking this as some sort of prank, but that you'll be keeping an eye on the situation just in case."

The blonde eyes her friend up and down carefully, eyes narrowed. "You got pretty comfortable doing my job for me didn't you?" she asks, a little petulantly.

Ruby just flashes her a grin. "Can't help it if I'm a better Sheriff than you are, _savior_."

"Get out," Emma grumbles, and Ruby laughs – but hops up nevertheless.

"You love me really," she says as she dances out of Emma's office and towards the exit.

"Debatable."

"You do!" she calls

"You should be so fucking lucky," she calls back after her, eyes fixed moodily on her filing cabinet. "I don't go in for brunettes with murderous tendencies anyway!" she adds

"Pity," a deliciously sarcastic voice says from behind her, launching her heart to her throat, "and I thought we were getting along so well."

Emma spins around in her chair, eyes widening. "Regina!"

"Sheriff," the woman inclines her head. "Bad time, I take it?"

She opens her mouth then closes it a few times before shaking her head. "No, no! It's fine, sorry, come in."

Regina smirks but steps just inside the office anyway, leaning carefully against the doorframe.

"Since when do you call me 'Sheriff'?" Emma asks then, frowning. "I thought we'd moved past all the stupid formalities."

Regina laughs and then fixes her with a pointed look. "Oh, haven't you heard? The Sheriff is the most sought after person in town right now – something to do with a murderer I hear?"

Emma sighs and rubs a hand across her face. "Oh, that."

"Yes _that_," Regina replies, eyes hardening. "Would you like to explain to me what exactly is going on?"

"I don't know," Emma says honestly, "I have no idea."

"Evidently." She lifts herself smoothly from the doorframe and walks forward, resting her hands on Emma's desk and leaning down until their eyes meet. "Why didn't you call me?"

Emma gulps, desperate – though apparently unable – to break away from Regina's gaze. "I didn't…I wasn't sure if…"

"If I had something to do with it?"

"No!" No, that wasn't it. Of course it wasn't. Regina had moved past that – _she'd_ moved past suspecting her of that.

"Then why? You could clearly use some help."

"I…" Emma swallows nervously, consumed by the intensity of the brunette's eyes. "I was going to," she says eventually, "just…just not while everyone was here."

Regina's eyes narrow dangerously, but she says nothing, waiting for further explanation.

"Everyone's freaked," the blonde explains carefully, "and they don't…I mean they still…most of them still see you as, well…"

"The Evil Queen?" Regina supplies, expression turning unreadable.

"Yeah," Emma coughs, "her. I figured if they saw you they might turn on you, blame you. Out of sight, out of mind, ya know?"

Regina's eyes narrow further, scrutinizing Emma, before finally straightening up again.

"You _were_ going to tell me?"

"Of course," Emma nods her head, a little more vigorously than is actually comfortable, but she wants to get her point across.

"When?"

"When I came to drop off Henry," the words are coming to her a little easier now Regina isn't so close to her. It's the truth, all of it, she just couldn't get it out so easily with the brunette in such close proximity. She doesn't know why, doesn't like to analyze it – but something about the woman's presence just does things to her. It's like her head fogs up and her IQ drops ten points whenever she's near. It's frustrating at the same time as it's fascinating.

"You were going to discuss police business with our son in the house?"

Emma shrugs. "It's nothing gory – besides he'd probably be too busy reading to eavesdrop anyway. He's gotten really into some book series lately – you noticed that?"

Regina's head snaps up. "What book series?"

"I dunno. Just know that he's had his nose stuck in them every moment of the goddamn day lately."

The brunette lets out an exasperated sigh, "Good lord, Emma, _please_ tell me you are not letting our twelve year old son read things uncensored?"

"Well you clearly haven't been censoring him either!" she shoots back quickly, defensively.

"Because he hasn't been reading around me! Which clearly implies he knows I wouldn't approve."

"Aw crap," Emma mumbles. "D'you think it's bad?"

Regina bristles, "For your sake it better not be."

The blonde flinches at the threat – if it is, she's in serious trouble.

The other woman shakes her head then. "Anyway, your incompetence as a parent isn't really relevant right now. Would you like to fill me in on the situation with this so called murderer – I'd like to know how badly you and your pathetic parents have messed up the control of my town."

"Fine," Emma sighs, "I guess you'd better sit down."

.

.

.

It's pushing midnight when Emma finally gets home, exhausted. Talking things through with Regina helped a little, as she suspected they would, but both women came away frustrated with the distinct lack of anything to go on. _Maybe it _was_ just a practical joke_, the blonde thinks to herself – it would certainly explain the lack of anything else to go on.

She slips out of her jacket and tosses it onto its usual chair before kicking off her boots and padding in as quietly as possible to check on Henry. He's sound asleep, curled up in a tight ball. Ruby's passed out sprawled across the couch and Emma doesn't have the heart to wake her, instead grabbing a blanket and draping it over her sleeping friend.

She wanders back into the kitchen and grabs a beer out of the fridge, leaning against the counter tiredly. She stands there drinking in silence, and it's when she's about half way through the bottle that she hears it.

Quiet – so quiet she's almost sure she must have imagined it – she hears the sound of children's laughter. It's distant, as if the noise was coming from far away, and it almost sounds a little distorted. It's a little eerie. Emma shakes her head – she's so tired she's imagining things. The alcohol on an empty stomach probably hasn't helped either – even if it is barely 4%. Alcohol, an empty stomach, and exhaustion. No wonder she thinks she's hearing things.

She sighs again and puts down the beer, running a hand through her blonde curls and heading back out of the kitchen. She needs to sleep, she has a lot to do in the morning.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"What. The _hell_. Were you thinking?"

"Oh come on, Emma, it's a good idea!" Snow replies, voice taking on a familiar note of whining.

"And how do you figure that, exactly?" Emma closes her eyes, desperately trying not to lose it.

"Look, whatever you tell them about it just being a joke, the people are still freaked out. They need something to distract them."

"And a _party_ is gonna do that?"

Snow smiles, the expression incredibly patronizing given the circumstances. "Look if everyone's just sitting around at home on the 21st they won't be able to take their minds' off it. They'll just be at home alone getting ever more paranoid. This way they'll not only have a distraction, but they'll feel the safety of numbers – they'll have you and all your deputies – they'll feel protected."

Emma shakes her head. "It's stupid."

"Maybe," Snow shrugs, annoyingly calm, "but I guarantee you it'll work. Everyone will feel much better about the whole thing if they have somewhere to go that evening, people to be with."

The blonde lets out a quiet grumble, but says nothing else, turning instead to the pile of paperwork on her desk. Hoping, however vainly, that it might make her mother leave her alone.

"Grumble all you like, Emma, but I promise you it's a good idea. David and I are going to announce it now."

"You're _what_?" she shoots out of her chair again.

"Oh don't be so melodramatic, Emma. Look, if it doesn't work you have my full permission to say I told you so – but it will – so you won't have to. In the meantime, I'm going to go and do what you apparently couldn't, which is to comfort and appease the masses."

Emma opens her mouth to respond but Snow, still not finished, cuts her off, "I mean I realize you haven't been doing this very long, the whole savior thing, but when you have a position of power you must learn how to use it properly."

"I do use i –"

"Never mind it now, Emma, we'll talk about it later," Snow says finally, turning on her heel and sweeping out of the door.

The blonde falls back down into her chair a little dumbstruck. She doesn't know what the hell she possibly could have done that's made her mother start acting so goddamn infuriatingly lately. A tiny little part of her has begun to understand what Regina had against her – the woman's perpetual optimism is enough to make her want to rip her hair out for starters.

She lets out a frustrated moan and drops her head to the desk, nails digging into her scalp. Why her parents are so insistent on her being a leader to everyone she doesn't know, she only wishes they'd stop.

"Exasperating, isn't she?"

Emma's head snaps up, eyes widening as she sees Regina at her door.

"How? _How_ do you keep doing that?" she snaps and the brunette rolls her eyes.

"Do what?"

"Keep sneaking up on me?" Emma's fully aware that she sounds like a petulant child, but in the present moment she doesn't really have the energy to care.

"Some of us don't feel the need to stomp around wherever we go," the woman replies. "Don't blame me if I don't choose to deafen people with my footsteps."

"Hey I do not stomp! Besides it's not like heels are exactly quiet miss 'I can't leave the house in less than 4 inches'," the last part turns into somewhat of a whine as she lowers her head back to her arms.

A delicate eyebrow raises halfway up Regina's forehead "Miss Swan, it's truly not my fault if you have no regard for fashion."

"Don't you fucking 'Miss Swan' me, Regina. I've had a very long day."

"It's eleven thirty," she replies evenly

"Exactly."

"AM."

Emma's head snaps up again "Seriously?" she whines. "That's _all_?"

The edge of Regina's mouth pulls up into a small smirk. "May I apologize on behalf of time for not moving at the speed Emma Swan would like it to."

The blonde just huffs in response.

"What are you doing here anyway?" she asks after a few minutes of silence, "Other than trying to give me a heart attack, of course."

"Henry," she responds, as if that's explanation enough. It's not, and Emma just looks up at her from where her head is resting on her arms until the brunette carries on with a sigh, "He wants us to have dinner."

Emma screws up her nose, frowning. "Dinner?"

"Yes, Miss Swan, it's a meal that people tend to eat in the evenings."

"I know what dinner is, Regina," she snaps.

"Really? That's not the impression I was getting," the other woman shoots back easily.

"_Regina_," Emma warns.

The smirks but carries on, "Dinner," she repeats, "as a…family."

Emma's eyes narrow, "Whose family?" she asks carefully.

Regina grits her teeth, "_Our_ family. All of it."

Emma's frown just deepens. "Like – my parents as well?"

"Unfortunately."

"We're not a family."

Something flashes briefly in Regina's eyes, gone just as quickly as it came, and then she sighs. "I know that – and you know that – but try telling Henry that."

"Seriously?" Emma asks, raising her head a little way off her arms. "He really wants you, me, him, and my _parents_ to sit down and have dinner together?"

Regina only nods.

"In the same room? The whole 'family' thing?"

She nods again.

"Damn, kid's dumber than he looks."

"Like mother, like son," Regina mumbles, just loud enough for Emma to hear.

"I am _not_ dumb."

"What's that on your cheek?" the other woman asks by way of response and Emma's hands fly to her face. Sure enough there's something hard digging into the flesh there, and when she pulls it away she sees it's a paper clip.

"You were saying?" Regina asks as Emma inspects the small piece of metal.

"Shut up, Regina," she grumbles in response, throwing the small piece of stationary angrily across the room and watching it bounce off the wall.

"Like father, like daughter," the brunette mumbles again.

"Hey! What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, dear," she replies easily. "Only that apparently manners are hereditary, and your shepherd father has none."

Emma sighs, she can't be bothered to argue anymore. "Regina, what are you really here for?"

"Excuse me?"

"You could have told me about dinner over the phone, so why are you really here?"

The brunette shifts her weight slightly, looking a little uncomfortable, before taking a few steps forward.

"I don't want people thinking it's me," she says simply.

"That what's you?"

"The invites, 'Murderer', all of this. Whatever comes or doesn't come of it, I don't want people thinking it's _me_."

Emma frowns, "Since when do you care what people think of you?"

Regina swallows, looking distinctly uncomfortable, "I don't…it's not…it's just that Henry –"

"Oh," Emma interrupts, "you mean you don't want _Henry_ thinking you've got anything to do with it." It's not a question.

The brunette looks at her and there's something just slightly desperate in her wide brown eyes "He's just begun to really trust me again, Emma," she says, voice quiet and small.

The blonde nods in understanding, the tiniest of smiles pulling at her lips. She'd never admit it aloud, but she loves when Regina does this – when she opens up to her, lets her guard down. They still fight, in fact ninety eight percent of their time together is spent fighting, or at least in some kind of banter – but now there's two percent of the time when they actually _talk_ to each other. It's been happening increasingly ever since they returned from Neverland. Something changed over there – what, she doesn't know – but something. Whatever it was though, it's making life much easier for her lately, and as such she finds she's endlessly grateful for it.

"I won't let that happen, I promise," she says sincerely. "But honestly I don't think Henry would either."

Regina nods, not meeting her gaze, and Emma's internal lie-detector starts to twinge slightly.

"Regina?" Emma asks carefully. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She shakes her head, looking up to meet her gaze, "No. I just don't want our son thinking I'm back into…shall we say old habits."

"You sure that's all it is?"

"Quite positive, dear."

Emma sits up, folding her arms across her chest, "Because…if there is something else, you know you can tell me."

Regina shakes her head, and Emma sighs as she sees the walls going back up. "I assure you, I'm fine. You should get back to work – I suppose I'll see you at this godforsaken party your mother's throwing."

"Wait, you know about the party?"

"The whole town does."

Emma groans, "_Already_?"

Regina raises an eyebrow. "Your mother's a fast worker when she wants something, and she's made it quite clear that the _whole_ town is to be there."

"I'm going to kill her."

The brunette smiles, turning to look back over her shoulder as she leaves. "Be my guest."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

The morning of the 21st of November dawns bright and cold. As Emma exits her Bug outside the diner she senses a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation in the air. Personally, she just feels tired and grumpy. In two days her mother has somehow managed to throw together the biggest party Storybrooke has possibly ever seen – almost as big as the Boxing Day Masquerade Ball – and, just as her mother wanted, _everyone_ has promised to come. Though honestly, she doesn't think much persuasion was needed in most corners, people were spooked by the invites, they need a distraction.

Emma kind of hates that her mother was actually right about that.

She pulls her hat off and runs a hand through her hair as she walks into the diner, heading straight for the counter and the scantily clad waitress behind it.

"How aren't you cold?" Emma asks and Ruby grins at her.

"Maine, Emma. Twenty-eight years," she shrugs, "you kinda get used to it."

"Ahuh?" Emma's not convinced.

"Besides," her friend leans forward conspiratorially, "my ass looks good in shorts."

Emma rolls her eyes, "Your ass is gonna freeze in shorts if you go outside like that."

"Good job I don't have to go outside then," she replies, reaching underneath the counter for a paper cup and the coffee pot. "Here. You're too grumpy without caffeine."

Emma grunts in response. "Got a lid?" she asks just as Ruby pulls one out from behind her back, eyebrow raised in amusement at Emma's shocked expression.

"I got your back, Em, in a very literal and caffeinated sense."

Emma narrows her gaze. "What do you want?"

Ruby's face takes on an all-too-innocent expression. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're being nice to me," Emma says, as if it that makes it obvious.

"I'm always nice to you," the brunette replies simply

"_Too_ nice."

"Is there such a thing?" Ruby's voice is high-pitched and impossibly sweet. Emma wouldn't even need her internal lie-detector to call bullshit.

"Ruby – spill."

Her friend sighs, deflating a little. "You're really not going to tell me about it?"

"About what?"

"You _know_ what!" she replies, voice low – almost a whisper.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Erm, Rubes, I really don't."

Ruby looks deeply affronted by this denial. "Seriously? I mean I get why it's a secret and all but I thought you'd at least tell me about it!"

The blonde is completely perplexed. "Ruby, what the hell are you talking about?"

She just huffs and pulls a paper bag out from under the counter. "Fine, don't talk about it if you don't want to. Not like I tell you all my secrets or anything." She chucks the paper bag at her and Emma looks inside to see two bearclaws. "Don't eat 'em both at once," Ruby grumbles and then turns on her heel, storming back into the kitchen.

Emma sits there for a moment completely dumbfounded, before finally picking her hat up from where she'd dumped it on the counter and pulling it on, picking up her coffee and heading outside. Maybe Ruby was hung-over? Or maybe she was still drunk from something. It's the only explanation she can think of.

She shakes her head, sighing, as she heads back to the Bug. She'll see Ruby at the party tonight and find out what it was she'd done, then she'll apologize profusely for whatever it is and buy her a drink. Ruby had a bad temper, but thankfully her friend had never seemed one to hold grudges.

She's so caught up in wondering what she might have done to get Ruby so pissed at her, that she doesn't look where she's going and next thing she knows she's crashing into someone else – hot coffee spilling everywhere.

"Shit, fuck! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims shaking her hands to try and dislodge droplets of the scolding brown liquid.

"Don't worry about it, Em, happens to all of us."

Emma looks up and sighs in relief. "Oh, hey Lilly," she smiles, "I'm really sorry."

Her part-time deputy laughs, mimicking Emma's arms movements to try and shake the liquid off them. "It's cool…well actually, it's effing boiling, but you know what I mean."

Emma laughs, thanking her lucky stars that – of all the people she could have spilt hot coffee over – the one she chose is Lilly Bana. She'd never really known Lilly, not until she'd come back from Neverland to find that Ruby had hired her as a deputy at the station, but these days she's endlessly grateful that she did. The redhead seemed effortlessly loyal, and was possibly the least high-maintenance friend Emma had ever had. Whereas Ruby got huffy if Emma didn't tell her every single thing she did – and apparently things she wasn't even aware she'd done – Lilly took what information was offered and never pushed for more.

"Hey, Em? You okay?" a small line appears between Lilly's delicate brows and Emma shakes her head quickly.

"What? Oh – yeah. Sorry. I'm just…having a weird day is all."

Lilly nods in understanding. "Yeah I gotta feeling today's gonna be pretty weird for all of us."

Emma can't argue with that.

Lilly looks down at her shirt and makes a little face. Emma flinches. "I'm really sorry, Lil."

The redhead smiles and shakes her head. "It's fine, honest. I've got sailing classes all day so it's not like anyone will see it – you chose the right day to spill coffee on me."

"Well it _was_ premeditated," Emma jokes and Lilly shakes her head fondly.

"I should go or I'll be late. I'll see you at the party, Em," she smiles again and gives her a gentle pat on the arm before walking off down Main, towards the harbor.

Emma groans, that goddamn party. It hasn't even happened yet and she's already sick of hearing about it. There's a burning sensation on her skin that she hadn't really noticed before and she looks down to see how truly drenched in coffee she is. Her white tank is now a disgusting brown color, the material sticking to her and turning embarrassingly see through.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath, scrambling for her car keys and jumping in the Bug. Now what's she gonna do? She's already running late – David had called right before she left the house saying they needed her at the station, something to do with Leroy, Pongo, and a drunken game of darts. She didn't have time to go home and change – the one disadvantage to her new house was that she was no longer conveniently in the center of all town action. It did, however, mean that she was out of the way and could escape from the madness of Storybrooke citizens at the end of the day. Henry loved it too, it was located right where the edge of the forest met the beach – isolated and private. He called it their secret fortress.

Right at this minute though, she could do with a more conveniently located fortress. She pulls out her phone to look at the time – 9.13 – _how's it got to that time already_? It doesn't really matter, at the end of the day she doesn't have the half an hour it would take to drive home and back into town again. She'd borrow a shirt from Ruby – but the waitress apparently isn't talking to her now – besides which she's not one hundred percent sure if Ruby owns any shirts that go below the midriff.

Her mother will be at school, and her wardrobe's a little too frilly for Emma's tastes anyway. That only leaves one person she can think of, so without pausing to debate it further, she turns the key in the ignition and begins to drive.

.

.

.

"What did you do?"

Regina seems completely un-phased by Emma's appearance, merely a little amused.

"Coffee," she replies, "_hot_ coffee."

"Did no one ever teach you how to consume liquids in a proper manner? Or are you just incredibly incompetent at that too?" the brunette asks, tapping her fingers elegantly against the doorframe.

"I ran into Lilly, if you must know. A bit literally," she adds, quieter.

"Oh, believe me my dear, that part is evident." Regina seems to be enjoying this much more than she should.

"I need a shirt," Emma grumbles, ignoring the jibe.

"I'm sure you have plenty at home."

"I don't have time to go home," she bites out, getting more infuriated.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have bought a house as far away from town as possible, then," Regina retorts, eyebrows raising.

"Regina," Emma says, voice taking on a whiny quality that she knows will annoy the woman enough she might just give her a shirt to shut her up.

The brunette sighs. "Oh for goodness' sake – come in then." She pulls the door open wider and steps to the side, letting her through.

"Wait here," she instructs once she's shut the door behind them, before turning and disappearing up the stairs. She returns a minute or so later, her finger hooked around a coat hanger.

"I seem to remember you have a certain fondness for this one," she says, eyes sparkling in amusement. "Considering you _stole_ it from me."

Emma coughs awkwardly, eyes drifting over the soft silk shirt she's borrowed once before. "That was Henry's idea."

Regina laughs. "Really, Miss Swan? You're blaming a child for your thieving tendencies?"

"Hey, I do not have thieving te –" Regina's mouth is twitching at the corners, the woman's obviously trying to suppress a smirk, and Emma sighs. She's just winding her up. "Thanks for the shirt," she replies moodily and Regina merely inclines her head, brown eyes practically twinkling.

Emma stalks off towards the bathroom. "It's not funny," she mumbles as she disappears inside.

Regina's answering chuckle is enough to make Emma slam the door behind her in annoyance, even if it is a strangely beautiful sound.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

The situation at the station turns out to be a lot less dire than David had made out – just another of many of Leroy's drunken pranks gone wrong. Admittedly Archie is a little hysterical, considering he thought the dwarves had turned his beloved dog into a dartboard – but Emma doesn't see it as anyone's fault but his own that Archie's enough of a lightweight that after two beers he can no longer tell the difference between live dogs and stuffed animals.

Archie doesn't seem to agree with her.

"I understand it was all in jest, Emma, but really – the psychological damage that can be done to a person in situations like these…it's all about cause and effect you see. Emotional pranks can have devastating outcomes – especially where alcohol is involved. It's not just me I'm thinking of…there are more, let's say unstable citizens in this town who this kind of prank could have dire, dire consequences on – they should be stopped from doing it again in my opinion. You should put some sort of policy in place to make sure –"

"Oh yadda yadda yadda – it was just a joke, bug boy. Not my fault if you can't take your booze," Leroy calls from his cell – voice a little slurry. Emma has to try very hard not to nod her head in agreement.

"That being said – there are some kinds of joke which just aren't funny. Emotional distress is really nothing to joke about." Archie pushes his glasses up his nose nervously, looking what Emma imagines he believes to be sternly at the man behind bars.

Leroy just waves a hand dismissively. "Oh go write a poem about your 'emotional distress' and leave us all in peace. Some of us have hangovers."

Emma can't stop her mouth from twitching into a smile but schools her features quickly before Archie turns back to her, "I trust you'll deal with this, Sheriff?" he asks, voice a little shaky.

"Yeah I…got your back, Archie," she sighs, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I promise Pongo's not getting skewered on my watch."

He hesitates a moment but then nods, seemingly more to himself than her. "Well…good. I'll see you at the party then."

He turns and heads for the exit and Emma has to bite her tongue to refrain from screaming about the damned party. She sighs, running her hands through her hair, waiting a few minutes until she's sure Archie's well gone before walking over to Leroy's cell.

He's grinning at her when she walks over, and she has to try very hard not to grin in response.

"You – shut it," she grits out, battling the way her mouth seems determined to pull up into a smile.

"Aww c'mon, sister, you've gotta admit it's hilarious," he slips past her and out of the cell, turning back to meet her gaze. "I thought the dude was gonna have hysterics."

"He nearly _did_," Emma responds. "You should know better than to play him like that."

"It was a stuffed toy, Emma," he chuckles.

"I know."

"A stuffed _monkey_ toy."

Emma chokes on the laugh that bubbles out of her throat. "A monkey?" she asks, voice strangled sounding as she tries desperately not to laugh.

"A monkey," Leroy confirms. "A blue one."

She can't stop it, the laughter takes her and she's powerless to resist. "It was _blue_?"

Leroy's chuckling too. "Yep. I told you the guy was a lightweight."

She has to wipe a tear from her eye she's laughing so hard.

Leroy regains himself a little quicker, straightening himself up. "Anyway, I gotta go – seeing Nova." He heads to the door. "See you at the party, sister," he calls over his shoulder as he exits.

That sobers her up.

"Oh…_fuck_ the party," she mutters angrily. She can already tell this evening is going to suck – especially considering Ruby isn't talking to her. Maybe Lilly will be able to relieve some of the boredom. She pulls her phone out and sends a quick text to her friend.

**_Tonight's gonna suck and Rubes isn't talking to me. Promise me you'll come be my drinking buddy?_**

She walks back into her office and collapses into her chair. Her phone buzzes a minute later.

**_Sorry, Em, I gotta stick with Fred tonight. He and Jake broke up – he's taking it pretty rough. How come Rubes isn't talking to you?_**

Emma groans. If she doesn't even have Lilly to drink with her tonight she's utterly screwed. Thomas and Ashley will be busy with Alex, her mother will be busy being _her mother_, and David will of course be right alongside her in her duty of hostess. Ruby isn't talking to her. Fred's depressed, Lilly's looking after him.

God, it's like this party was actually planned to be hell on earth for her.

She feels bad for Fred though – Lilly's sweet, soft-spoken brother was pretty smitten with his boyfriend. They'd seemed pretty solid too – Emma can't help but wonder what happened to them. She's still pissed though. She needed Lilly tonight.

The blonde pulls out her phone and sends out another text.

**_Jefferson. You. Me. Vodka. Tonight. Please._**

Her phone buzzes again almost immediately.

**_Emma. Me. Grace. Father. Be. Must. I._**

She lets out a little scream of exasperation.

**_Fuck you. And stop watching Star Wars_**_._ She replies.

**_Love you too do I_**.

Emma rolls her eyes but smiles a little. Jefferson's a good friend to her these days – he's almost like the brother she never wanted – she can't really blame him for trying to be a good father.

Unfortunately, that only leaves one other person she can spend the evening with – and she's 99.9% positive that that person won't want to do vodka shots with her.

It's always worth asking though.

She picks up her phone and presses speed dial 5, waiting impatiently as the phone rings twice before the woman on the other end answers it.

"If you spilt coffee on that shirt you're not getting another one – you can walk around naked for all I care."

"Like that, would you?" Emma grins. Regina seems unamused.

"What do you want, Emma?"

"Vodka. And someone to drink it with," she says simply.

"If you're calling me to drink vodka with you then you must be truly desperate."

"That's not true."

"How many people did you ask first?" God, she can practically hear the raised eyebrow.

"That," she starts, defensively, "is completely irrelevant. The point is that I'm asking you now."

"My dear, I wouldn't get within fifty yards of you if you'd been drinking vodka. Besides, you seem to be forgetting that your son is going to be at this party – what exactly were you planning on doing with him whilst you vomited alcohol over your father's shoes?"

"Hey, that was _one_ time!" she replies indignantly. "And I was sick at the time."

"Yes," Regina counters smoothly, "from drinking vodka."

Emma opens her mouth to argue, but can't seem to find a response quick enough.

"Forget about it, Miss Swan, you're going to have to suffer through this evening sober just like the rest of us." Regina seems to be far too happy about this, but that's not what the blonde finds herself dwelling on.

"You are going to be there then?" she asks, realizing too late that she sounds a little like a hopeful puppy.

"Of course. Apparently the townsfolk's complete abhorrence for me is not enough for even me to get out of this godforsaken event."

"Mary Margaret's seriously making you go too?" Emma's a little shocked, it's not like her mother's exactly a fan of Regina's presence.

"Your mother is a complicated and infuriating woman," the other woman says by way of response "Thankfully you only inherited one of those traits."

"I'm not _that_ complicated," Emma replies defensively and Regina chuckles darkly

"No, dear, you're certainly not."

The blonde lets that sink in for a minute before huffing angrily, "Wait, _I'm_ infuriating? Speak for yourself – you're the most infuriating person I've ever met!"

"Me?" the amusement in Regina's voice is almost tangible. "At least I have respectable manners and a decent fashion sense. How many leather jackets do you own exactly?"

"How is the number of leather jackets I own even relevant to this conversation? See that is exactly why you're infuriating – you take completely irrelevant things and throw them into arguments just to try and get the upper hand!" she snaps.

"Well, at least I don't resort to petty insults and name-calling when arguments aren't going my way," Regina shoots back just as quickly

"I do not –"

"Evil witch, crazy bitch, self-centered cow, heartless jerk, selfish asshole."

Emma blinks in surprise. "What?"

"Those are your favorites, dear," Regina's voice has taken on an unreadable quality, much calmer than it was mere moments ago.

"My favorite what – insults?"

"For me, yes."

Emma feels an unease a lot like guilt twist at her stomach. "I've said all those things to you?"

"At one point or another," Regina sounds like she's shrugging, like it's no big deal, but suddenly Emma feels terrible. The fight drops out of her and she's left with an uncontrollable urge to just hug Regina and make the pain of all the stupid things she and others have said to the woman go away.

Instead, all she does is murmur out a slightly strangled 'sorry'.

There's an awkward silence and then Regina finally speaks again, voice quiet and reserved, "I'll see you at the party, Emma." Then she hangs up.

This time Emma doesn't have anything to say in response.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

She decides she can't be bothered to change – on top of which her mother will know the shirt she's wearing is Regina's, and that's sure to send her head spinning in confusion. It's the best kind of payback Emma can muster for having to go to this stupid thing – at least in the short term.

Instead she uses the time staring inanely at paperwork she probably should have done weeks ago, pretending like she's incredibly busy whenever anyone calls to see what time she's arriving.

Eventually – as the hands on her office clock snap into the five-to-nine position – she decides she can't really put it off any longer. Her mother's going to kill her for being so late, no point pushing her ire any further.

.

.

.

When she walks through the door she has to take a deep, calming breath. As promised, the _whole_ town is there – and she just knows they're all going to have all sorts of inane questions for her. She ducks her head quickly and heads straight for the drinks table, rolling her eyes at the pathetic standards of alcohol provided.

She makes a grab for what look to be the last two bottles of beer before turning around to survey the room in search of somewhere she can hide for the remainder of the evening. As she turns, though, she nearly knocks out a teenager with one of her beers.

"Whoa – hey! Careful, kid, I could've scalped you."

The boy looks up at her, eyes wide and a little panicked. So apparently he didn't find jokes about scalping funny, then.

"Hey look, I'm sorry – just – watch where you're going next time, yeah?" she asks, softening her voice a little before moving to step past him.

"Sheriff," he chokes out, one hand flashing forward to grab her arm. She looks down to their point of contact and up again, confused.

"What do you want?"

"I…" he hesitates, the panic swirling in his eyes. Honestly, he almost looks a little unhinged. "I need to talk to you," he says, so quietly she has to strain to hear it above all the chatter.

"Yeah well office hours are nine 'til six, kid. Come see me at the station – I'm off duty now," she waves a beer at him and raises her eyebrows, looking pointedly at the hand on her arm.

He doesn't move. "No, no, you don't understand. This is urgent, please, I need help."

She hesitates, finally taking the time to really look at him.

The boy's lanky and slightly disproportioned – a sure marker of mid-adolescence. He has a head full of slightly unruly ginger curls and deep green eyes that remind her of the forest surrounding town. They're soulful and sad. They're also brimming with a mixture of panic and fear, red-rimmed, and bottomed by deep set shadows.

She turns her full attention back to him, a small frown creasing her forehead. "What's up, kid?" she asks gently.

"Well, it all started about three days ago, see I was on my paper round when –" he stops short, eyes widening as they fix on something over her shoulder. She turns to see if there's anything there that should merit such a response, but all she sees is crowds of townsfolk – some she recognizes, some she doesn't. She's distracted for a minute as someone moves and she catches sight of Regina. She's holed up in a corner reading a book, occasionally looking up with a scowl at the townsfolk around her.

Emma shakes her head, trying to focus. She turns back to tell the boy to continue – but he's disappeared. She can just make out his ginger head weaving its way back into the crowd, away from her. She shakes her head, throwing her arms up in exasperation. Teenagers.

She takes a swig of one beer, turning slowly on her heel and letting her eyes drift back to Regina. The woman looks unfairly adorable, tucked away in a corner with a book on her lap, glass of wine balanced carefully in one hand. Well, she warned her she was going to be her drinking buddy, time to make good on that promise.

She's halfway across the room when she's interrupted again. Kathryn's there, looking wild and frantic.

"Emma!" she practically yelps. "Thank god, I've been looking for you – I've got to speak to you Emma it's important something's happening, something bad, something…oh god terribly bad, Emma, I don't know what it is but it's bad so bad – the gnomes you see – it's got something to do with the gnomes!"

Emma blinks, staring at the woman in a mixture of shock and confusion.

"Wait, back up there a minute. What, exactly, do you think is happening?" she doesn't know what's going on this evening – or why she's so popular all of a sudden – but she's not entirely convinced that the citizens of Storybrooke aren't all just going a tiny bit bonkers.

"Gnomes!" Kathryn exclaims, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Gnomes?" Emma repeats, calmly and carefully, trying very hard not to look at her father's ex-wife like she's mad.

"Exactly, Emma, exactly! It all started with the gnomes, you know. They were everywhere – terrible things – but then the children. Emma, the children! God help us all! You've gotta burn them you see. Burn them, it's the only way!" she's panting, face flushed, and eyes bloodshot. Emma's not sure whether the woman's drunk, crazy, or a mixture of both.

"I'm sorry which children exactly are we…_burning_?"

"The children, Emma! The children, we have to burn them – the gnomes will tell you. If there's gnomes then you'll know!"

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. Kathryn's clearly had too many – _way_ too many.

"Yeah, okay, whatever you say, Kathryn," she pats the woman on the shoulder, probably a little patronizingly on reflection, but the woman's either pissed off her head or batshit crazy. She carries on past her, ignoring the woman as she continues to rant about burning gnomes. For God's sake she just wants to talk to Regina – it's like someone wound up a bunch of clockwork crazies and set them on her one at a time as an obstacle course to prevent her possibly getting any joy out of the evening.

Actually, she wouldn't put that past Mary Margaret, the mood she's been in lately.

It's not that she doesn't love her mother – she does. In fact, being without one for so long means that a part of her spends its time worshipping the very ground she walks on just for actually existing. Ever since Neverland though, the woman's just been a little overbearing – it's one of the reasons Emma decided it was high time to get a place of her own, that and the fact that she had caught her parents in the act more times than she wanted to think about. It's truly depressing to think that her _parents_ have a more active sex life than she, even if they are all the same age.

She doesn't know why her mother's been so possessive lately, so insistent on trying to 'parent' her, though she has the smallest sneaking suspicion it's guilt-propelled. After all, the woman was going to abandon the child she'd already abandoned once before to stay in Neverland building treehouses and starting a new family.

Honestly, Emma kinda hopes she feels guilty about that. She's pissed, not to mention more deeply hurt than she might be letting on. It's something they're going to have to talk out eventually, she knows, but in all truth she's a little scared of what the conversation might bring. She doesn't want to lose her mother, not now she finally has one, but she just wishes the woman would stop being quite such a busybody. Emma's close approaching thirty, after all.

She shakes her head. They _are_ going to have to have it out, but now is neither the time nor the place. Now is the time and place for drinking, preferably with Regina Mills.

Emma looks up to where Regina's sitting, or _was_ sitting a minute ago – the woman's disappeared. _Fuck's sake, I cannot get a break_, Emma curses internally, spinning and craning her head to try and find the brunette.

She spots her father and ducks down quickly to avoid his gaze – and then the lights go out, plunging the room into darkness.

The room breaks out into chaos, people screaming and shouting. Emma curses and turns back around trying to pick her way through the mass of panicking townsfolk to the wall and, hopefully, a light switch. Her mission becomes somewhat futile though as, just as she reaches her closest wall, the lights flicker back on again. There's a moment of total silence as everyone blinks against the assault to their eyes and then, from across the room, there's a deafening scream.

Emma runs. She pushes her way through the confused mass of people to where the scream has quieted into gasping sobs. People have formed a small circle, and as Emma pushes through to the middle of it she feels her breath hitch in her throat. There's a body on the floor, lying in a growing pool of their own blood as it seeps from their slit throat. It's not just a body though, it's the body of a boy. A boy with unruly ginger curls, his face no longer looking panicked but lifeless and pale. Emma's stomach twists. It's the same boy, the one who was so desperate to talk to her earlier. Had he known? He'd seemed so scared, what if he'd been trying to tell her that someone wanted to kill him? She'd been so distracted by Regina she'd let him go off without talking to her. What kind of a Sheriff did that?

Emma looks down again and finally sees the source of the sobbing. There's another kid there, though she looks a little older, maybe late rather than mid-teens. She's clinging to the boy's arm, shaking him slightly, though there's no way he's alive. There's too much blood.

The blonde shakes her head, there's too much blood, too many people. She's the Sheriff for God's sake. She needs to deal with this situation.

She turns, surprised, though immeasurably grateful to find Ruby at her elbow.

"There's too many people, Rubes. We gotta clear out."

Ruby's staring at the boy and girl with pain clear on her face, eyes a little teary, and Emma makes a mental note to ask later if she knows them. Not now though, now she needs her deputies to be deputies.

"Ruby?"

The brunette shakes her head, bringing herself back. "What? Oh, yeah, okay. You got it," she disappears back off into the crowd, hooking an arm around a slightly confused looking Jefferson and taking him with her.

"Emma?" she turns to see David pushing through the stunned crowd, a somber looking Thomas and Lilly in tow. "What's happeni –" he stops short as he sees the body on the ground. "Oh God," his face falls. "Oh God it's a _kid_."

Emma takes a breath. She can't let it get to her, not right now, she can feel guilty later.

"We need to get people out of here, we need space to work."

Her father nods, eyes still fixed on the boy's body. "I saw Ruby and Jefferson starting to usher people out the front."

She nods thoughtfully. "Okay, you and Thomas go take people out the fire exit, tell them not to worry – that we're dealing with the situation."

He nods and disappears back off into the crowd, Thomas hot on his heels.

"What can I do, Em?" Lilly looks white as a sheet, and Emma pats her reassuringly on the arm.

"We're gonna need to get the body out of here," she thinks aloud, "but someone should probably take a look at it first… although I think cause of death is pretty clear." Lilly's eyes dip quickly to the boy's slit throat and up again. She looks like she might vomit.

"Go find Doctor Whale," Emma settles on her course of action. "Send him over, tell him we'll need an ambulance to transport the body."

Lilly nods. "Then what d'you need?" she asks, and Emma squints, the woman looks like she's turning a little green.

"Head to the station, I'll need help when I get back there. Don't worry I won't make you ride with the body."

Lilly sighs in relief. "Thanks, Em."

The blonde gives her a smile. "It's cool – though I gotta say I didn't know you were such a wimp when it came to blood." She elbows her gently but Lilly doesn't smile in response.

"It's not that," she says quietly and Emma frowns

"Then what –"

"He's so young," the redhead replies. "Look at him he's just…he's just a kid."

Emma feels the smile drop off her face, giving Lilly another reassuring pat on the arm. "Yeah," she nods, "yeah, he is." _Was,_ she adds mentally.

Lilly's head snaps up again, collecting herself. "Sorry – Whale. I'm on it."

"Great, thank you." Emma smiles.

"See you back at the station?" Lilly asks over her shoulder and Emma just nods in response.

She turns her attention back to the body, only to see her mother bent over it, talking fast and soft to the sobbing girl, one arm around her shoulders. Good, that's not a task Emma really feels up to right now – she'll thank her mother later.

It's going to be a long night, she can already tell, so there's one more thing she needs to do before she can give her attention fully to the case. The blonde pulls out her phone and sends a quick text.

**_There's been a murder, I've gotta go to the hospital with the body then back to the station. Don't know when I'll be done. Can you take Henry home with you? _**

"Consider it done," a voice says from behind her and she whips around.

"Regina."

The brunette's gaze flicks to the body and back again, brown eyes taking on the unreadable quality that makes Emma a little uncomfortable.

"Will you be needing Jefferson?"

Emma looks at her quizzically. "What does that…why?"

Regina sighs. "Jefferson. Grace. Daughter."

"Oh," Emma averts her gaze guiltily for a second. "Right, Grace. Erm, yeah I don't know how long I'll need him so if you can take Grace as well that'd be good."

Regina rolls her eyes but nods. "I'd leave it to you to tell him, but somehow I'm pretty sure you'll forget and end up with a deputy who thinks his daughter's been kidnapped."

The blonde opens her mouth to protest but Regina's already walking away, heading for the corner of the now near-empty room, where Henry and Grace appear in rapt conversation with each other.

"Sheriff?" she turns back to see Doctor Whale, flanked by Thomas and her father.

"Hey, Whale," she greets, already feeling weary. "Ambulance on its way?"

The man nods gravely. "I don't see much use in examining the body here, I'll wait until we're at the hospital and I have all the relevant instruments – if that's alright with you?"

Emma nods, it's not like they have a CSI team in Storybrooke anyway. The Crime Scene is just the scene where the crime happened, less an opportunity for evidence.

"I'll come with you to the hospital, Thomas you come with me and Whale. David you and Ruby grab Leroy and clear up in here, tell Jefferson to go back to the station and meet up with Lilly. I need them to go through the invites, see if we missed anything."

Her father nods. "Consider it done – one thing though?"

"Yeah?"

"Why Leroy?"

Emma smirks. "Let's call it a community service sentence."

Her father doesn't question her further, merely nods and turns to go in search of the others. Emma moves to where her mother has managed to extricate the girl from the body, kneeling down to face her.

"His name was Obie," her mother says, voice soft, before she has a chance to ask. "Short for Obadiah. He's one of the kids from the orphanage."

Emma feels her stomach twist again, harder. Poor kid didn't even have parents to confide in…and she didn't pay attention to him.

"And this is?" she asks, matching her mother's quiet tone, looking sadly at the girl curled in her arms, looking somehow simultaneously like a small, petrified child, but also far too big for the action.

"Milla," the girl sniffs, looking up from Snow's shoulder, "my name's Milla."

Emma nods soberly. "And how do you – did you," she amends, wincing at the unsubtlety of it, "how did you know Obie?"

Milla shifts in Snow's embrace, wet, dark eyes lifting to meet Emma's. "I was at the orphanage with him, he was like my little brother."

Emma takes a deep breath. "How old are you?" she asks gently – the girl looks too old to be at the orphanage.

"Nineteen – now. I was seventeen though, for the twenty eight years before the curse broke. I had nowhere else to go, so now I just work there."

"At the orphanage?"

Milla nods. "Blue let me stay on, the kids all know me and I work hard. I earn my way," she says earnestly and Emma feels another wave of guilt pull at her. Milla seems like a good girl, a good honest girl who made something of the nothing she had. And now Emma's incompetence as a Sheriff means the girl's lost yet more family.

"I'm sure you do," Snow says gently, when Emma fails to respond, one hand rubbing gentle circles into the girl's shoulder.

The blonde can't help but feel the tiniest pang of jealousy – her mother was never there to provide _her_ this kind of comfort – and now the only mothering she gets from the woman is the fussy, interfering kind. This isn't really the time for that though, so she shakes it off.

"Milla, I'm really sorry, but I'm gonna need you to go down the station and give a statement," she puts a hand on the girl's arm, who nods, gathering herself a little.

"It's okay, I know. I'll do anything I can to help find out who did this."

"Good," Emma nods reassuringly. "I'm sure Mary Margaret will take you, won't you?" she looks imploringly at her mother who smiles and nods in response. "Great, and I've got two deputies there who you can talk to. I promise I'll find out who did this to Obie, okay?"

Snow helps the girl to her feet and she gives a watery smile, wiping her eyes. "Thank you, Sheriff," she mumbles, leaning into Snow's side as they head for the door.

Emma lets out a breath, wiping a hand across her face. This sucks. A lot.

"Sheriff?" Doctor Whale's at her elbow, hovering.

"Yes?" she asks, carefully, so she doesn't snap at him.

"The ambulance is here – are you ready for us to move the body?"

The blonde turns, looking at the paramedics as they stare soberly down at the Obie's body, one holding a body bag, the other the end of a stretcher.

"Yeah," she nods, "yeah let's go."

.

.

.

When she finally gets back to the station everyone's just sitting around looking like they're about to pass out. Emma doesn't blame them, she feels much the same herself.

"Anything?" she asks as she collapses into a spare chair, Thomas collapsing into one next to her.

"Nothing," her father replies gravely. "Those invites are clean, Emma, as clean as they were when we first checked them over."

She lets out a frustrated growl and buries her head in her hands.

"Did Whale find anything?" Ruby asks

"Cause of death was the throat slitting, as I'm pretty sure we all figured," Thomas supplies for her, "but he found something else too."

Everyone just looks at him expectantly. "There were traces of a strange powder on the body – they're running tests on it, should have results in a few days. There was also a strange design branded into his skin, and a bundle of herbs shoved down his throat."

"Wait, what?" David asks, confused.

Emma sighs. "When he started the examination, Whale found a little bag stuffed down Obie's throat, the bag was full of herbs or plant or something. There was also a design singed into the skin of his back."

"Where the hell did that come from?" Jefferson asks. "The lights were only off for a minute, there's no way someone managed to slash his throat, shove a bag of herbs down it and _brand_ him all in that time."

Everyone nods in somewhat distracted agreement.

"Besides," Ruby pipes up, "in the dark someone would have seen a branding iron – it would have been glowing."

Emma throws her hands up in the air. "Guys, I'm as confused as you are, I don't understand it, but those are the facts – and they're all we've got to work with."

Jefferson sighs. "Yeah, well, d'you think we could work with them tomorrow – some of us have other jobs we've got to get to in the morning, not to mention children."

Emma sighs, nodding. "I'm sorry, I was gonna say – there's nothing more we can do tonight so you might as well all go home and get some rest. David, Thomas and I can pick this up in the morning and if you three have time to come down and help us after work – be my guest." She nods her head towards Ruby, Jefferson, and Lilly, all of whom hop up from where they were perched on their desks.

"My last class finishes at four tomorrow, I'll be over as soon after that as I can," Lilly says, leaning down and giving Emma a quick hug.

"Thanks, Lil," she smiles tiredly.

Ruby chew at her lip in thought. "Granny might let me off, all things considered, if not I'll be around over lunch – 'kay?"

Emma nods. "That's great, thank you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – thank me later," Ruby offers her a small, tired smile and then wraps an arm around Lilly's shoulders, pulling her off towards the door.

"I'm picking Grace up from Regina's tomorrow morning and taking her and Henry to school – if Regina can take Grace for dinner tomorrow then I'll come down after work," Jefferson says as he heads for the door, but Emma shakes her head.

"That's okay – we don't really have anything to work on yet – you might as well spend some time with Grace. I'll text you if I need you."

He smirks. "Last time you texted that you needed me it was to drink vodka."

"Oh shut up," Emma grumbles. "I meant police work."

"You're such a responsible parent," Jefferson adds, pretending not to hear her.

"Do you want to get to spend time with your daughter?" she snaps at him, and his smirk broadens.

"But of course – I thank you deeply for this generous break you've offered me," he bows in mocking and she picks up a pencil and tosses it at his head. Tired as he is, he still manages to dodge out of the way – which only infuriates her further.

"Just piss off," she growls at him and he happily obliges, sweeping out the door with one last grin over his shoulder.

When she turns back her father is looking at her sternly. "What?" she asks, frustrated.

"Drinking, Emma? Really? You have a child."

"Oh shut up," she grumbles. "So does he."

"And he evidently is not drinking."

"Well that's debatable," she mumbles under her breath. "Anyway whatever drinking I do or do not do in my spare time isn't really relevant right now. Right now we just need to get some sleep."

"Can't argue with that," Thomas agrees, standing up and shrugging on his jacket. "Ashley'll be wondering where the hell I've got to. See y'all in the morning," he adds.

"See you, Thomas," they call after him.

Once the door's slammed shut again her father looks at her, eyes intent. "What's wrong, Emma?" he asks carefully, and she startles.

"What?"

"I said what's wrong?"

"I…nothing, nothing's wrong. I'm just tired," she lies, yawning for good measure. David's eyes narrow at her but she meets his gaze, challenging.

Eventually, he gives up his scrutiny and shakes his head.

"Fine – I need to sleep. Make sure you get some as well, yeah?" He puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

"Will do," she gives him a small smile.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Alright then, see you tomorrow." He gives her shoulder one last squeeze and then heads out the door, leaving Emma to bury her head back in her hands.

.

.

.

She takes a deep breath before pulling herself up, grabbing the station keys and locking up behind her. She heads straight for her car, determined to get home before the ever-growing feeling of guilt overwhelms her. As she walks though, she hears a crunching noise beneath her and she moves her foot to see smashed pieces of colored china beneath it. She crouches down, frowning, and turning a piece over in her hand. She picks up another piece, and another, examining them carefully – frown deepening. It's a gnome, or was before she smashed it, a miniature garden gnome. Briefly, her tired mind flickers back to earlier in the evening, to Kathryn, and to jabbering nonsensical talk of gnomes.

She shakes her head, throwing the broken pieces of painted china back to the floor in frustration. She's going mad. Emma straightens up, pulling her car keys out of her jacket and scrambling to get inside the Bug quickly.

She drives quicker than she probably should, considering her state of exhaustion. She does the drive in ten minutes and feels her forehead creasing back into a frown as she pulls up outside to see another car there – another car she certainly was not expecting to see there.

She gets out of the Bug quietly, shutting the door but not bothering to lock it – she never does. She sticks out a finger to prod at the black Mercedes in her driveway – wondering if perhaps it's an illusion created by her sleep deprived mind. There's a letter sticking out of her mailbox and she pulls it out as she passes, not bothering to really look at it – more interested in what Regina's car is doing in her driveway.

Emma opens the door a little apprehensively, peering around it in confusion as she steps inside. She wonders through into the lounge, stopping short at what she sees.

Regina Mills is curled up, fast asleep, in one of Emma's armchairs.

Though confused, the blonde can't help the way her lips curl into a tiny smile at the sight. The other woman looks so small, so serene, like this. It's not like Emma's never seen Regina asleep before – they all took enough watches in Neverland to be familiar with everyone's sleeping habits – but there's something about the way the woman's curled in on herself, head tucked into one arm, that makes her look young and almost vulnerable. It's not a look she's often seen on the woman.

Emma doesn't know why Regina – and presumably Henry – are here, but she's far too tired to question it. Besides which, she truly doesn't have the heart to wake Regina when the woman looks so peaceful. Instead, Emma pulls off her boots and jacket and creeps quietly past the sleeping brunette into her bedroom.

Once in there she shuts the door carefully behind her, shuffling over to her bed and sitting heavily on the edge, turning her attention back to the letter she picked up. It's dated as being sent three days ago – and she wonders that she missed it considering it was sticking out of the mailbox. _Three days ago,_ she frowns. That's the date the invitations were sent out. It's addressed in a careful calligraphic hand, and Emma feels her chest begin to tighten.

She slips a finger under the paper and tears the envelope open, pulling the contents out carefully. There's a single piece of card in there – much the same as there was with the invitations – and as she reads what's written there the blonde feels her stomach twist painfully, her throat closing up.

**_Location: – Storybrooke Town Hall_**

Emma feels her breath catch in her throat. Had this been in her mailbox the whole time? Did she just miss it? Perhaps an even worse question – could she then, have prevented the murder? She felt guilty enough as it is, now she feels the guilt overwhelming her, swallowing her up. Obie was just a kid, and he'd been so panicked, so desperate for her help. He'd looked so small in the hospital, so pale and vulnerable as Doctor Whale cut him up like a piece of meat. Emma bats at her eyes as she feels hot tears beginning to well in them. She doesn't want to cry. It's no good though – she's sleep-deprived, and the tears are coming faster than she can swipe them away. Before she knows it she's sobbing silently into her hands, guilt and exhaustion overwhelming her.

She's crying hard enough that she doesn't hear the tell-tale sound of her bedroom door opening

"Emma?" her head snaps up, hands moving immediately to wipe her face.

"Regina?" she asks, voice scratchy, and she curses herself for the shakiness in it.

"Emma, what's wrong?" The brunette's moving across the room before she can process it, one arm slipping gently around her shoulders.

She turns to meet Regina's dark gaze, trying but failing to reign in the flood of tears that seems determined to make its way out of her eyes. She opens her mouth to say something, tell Regina she'll be fine – that she can go back to sleep – but all that comes out is another choked sob.

"Oh God, Emma." Regina's voice is full of sympathy, and Emma feels the woman pulling her closer, guiding her head to her shoulder. Everything in her is screaming that she shouldn't, but she leans into the other woman's embrace, fingers curling into her soft shirt as she sobs onto her shoulder.

She sobs for a good five minutes before the tears finally begin to subside and she pulls back, feeling a little awkward. She swipes at her eyes again, avoiding Regina's steady gaze.

"Will you tell me what's wrong, now?" the brunette asks steadily, one arm still firmly around Emma's shoulders.

"I…I don't…it's just," she swallows heavily looking up again through her wet lashes, embarrassed by her outburst. "He tried to talk to me," she whispers, and Regina frowns.

"What? Who –"

"Obie," Emma interrupts and Regina just stares at her, clearly waiting for elaboration. "The kid that got murdered."

"Oh," Regina's eyes widen slightly in comprehension. "He tried to talk to you? When?"

"Right before he died." She tilts her head back, trying to stop more tears from spilling out. "He was all panicked and shaky and I think he knew…I think he knew he was gonna die and he tried to tell me but I was distracted and he was scared and I…oh God, it's my fault, I should have let him talk to me I should have –"

"Whoa, hey, Emma breathe." The brunette moves her hand to Emma's back, rubbing soft circles into it. "It's not your fault."

"He tried to _tell_ me," she says, "and…" she trails off, ashamed of how badly she seems to have let the kid down.

"And what?" Regina asks softly, hand continuing to smoothe patterns into her back.

The blonde takes a deep breath and lets it out again. "And so did Murderer."

Regina startles, one eyebrow rising. "What?"

Emma looks guiltily down at her hands, picking the small card off her lap where it had fallen.

"Here," she says, passing it to Regina. "This was in my mailbox…dated three days ago," she adds around the lump in her throat.

The brunette's brow furrows as she looks at the card. "This…this is the location announcement," she realizes aloud, and Emma merely nods. "You…" she frowns deeper, "you had the location announcement in your mailbox the whole _time_?"

The blonde just nods her head again, ashamed.

Regina's shaking hers "You could have known, you could have –"

"Stopped it?" Emma asks, voice pained and Regina doesn't reply, but Emma feels the hand on her back fall away.

"You could have known that Murderer was going to be there."

Emma buries her head in her hands.

She feels the weight on the bed shift as Regina moves a few inches away from her.

"Our son was there."

The blonde can't breathe she feels so guilty.

"With a murderer. A murderer you could have known would be there."

She groans, peering up from her finger's to see Regina's face. The softness and sympathy has dropped out of it, and now her expression is carefully schooled.

"Regina," she breathes, pleads more like – she already feels guilty as sin, she doesn't think she can deal with Regina being mad at her for putting Henry in danger as well.

"No," she says, voice so much sharper than it was mere minutes ago. "You're wrong. The boy dying wasn't your fault," Emma's heart lifts slightly – maybe Regina isn't as mad as she looks. "But if you continue to be quite so incompetent, then next time it probably will be." With that she stands and sweeps out of the room, shutting the door behind her and not looking back.

The blonde's heart drops back into her stomach. She didn't just let Obie down, she let everyone down. She let Regina down, she let Henry down.

Emma feels her eyes welling up again and laughs dejectedly at herself, wondering when she turned into such a wet blanket.

She knows the answer of course. Since the curse broke – since she found her family – she's started to change a little, she's becoming less guarded – though perhaps too much so if her current state is anything to go by. It doesn't matter right now though, now all she wants to do is sleep. Tomorrow she has a murderer to find.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Emma's awoken earlier than usual, the sound of birdsong filtering in even through her firmly closed windows. The sun is pooling in soft golden beams, illuminating dust as it dances around her room. If she were less cynical, Emma might think this is the kind of morning her fairy tale parents probably used to wake up to. Instead, all she can think is that she forgot to shut her damn curtains.

She climbs out of bed feeling stiff, eyes sore from the disgusting amount of crying she did. Her mind flickers back to the way Regina had held her as she cried, then to the way the brunette had pulled back in anger once she'd been reminded of how incompetent Emma was. She lets out a huff of frustration, pulling a hand through her tangled hair, she already feels awful – she doesn't need Regina making her feel awful too.

She pulls her phone out of her jeans pocket – writing herself a mental reminder that she's far too old to fall asleep fully clothed, not to mention to remind herself how uncomfortable it is sleeping in super skinnies. She's squished in places she doesn't want to be squished. Instead of checking her phone as she was going to, she chucks it on the bed, grabbing her tank and yanking it off in annoyance. She scrambles out of her tight pants about as lady-like as she can manage – meaning she doesn't quite fall on the floor – only knocks into her bedside table and tips over her lamp.

She walks across to her dresser and pulls out a clean towel before heading out for the bathroom. She's barely out of her door though, when she hears a tiny intake of breath followed shortly by a very pointed coughing.

"Regina!" she yelps, jumping practically out of her skin to see the woman standing in her living room, eyes raised heavenwards. Emma pulls the towel hastily across herself, covering her body, cheeks burning as she does. "What the hell are you doing?" she spits out, voice a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing," the other woman grits out. "Do you make a habit of walking around naked?"

"I'm not naked I…this is my house!" Emma exclaims. "I'm allowed to walk around naked in my own house."

"I thought you said you weren't naked," Regina smirks, lowering her gaze again to meet Emma's.

"I'm not I'm just pointing out that –" she stops, frustrated. "What are you doing here anyway?"

The smile disappears from Regina's face.

"I took Henry to school early – he's got a project," she says, as if that explains her presence in Emma's home.

"Well thanks – but why are you _here_?"

Regina's gaze drops even lower, fixing itself on the floor beneath her.

"Well?" Emma asks, voice hard.

"I came…" the brunette lets out a little huff, as if whatever she's trying to say is paining her. "I came to apologize."

Ah, that would be why it was paining her. Regina didn't like apologizing.

Emma allows herself to smirk a little. "Oh?"

"I stopped by the Post Office."

"Oh."

"Yes," Regina sounds formal, and a little unsure of herself. It's something that Emma's been hearing more and more in the woman's voice lately. Not that she thinks Regina is becoming anymore unsure than she might have been in the past – more she thinks that Regina's just starting to open up around her, to show her when she _is_ unsure. It makes it incredibly difficult to be mad at the woman.

"So…what happened?" Emma asks

"I checked," Regina continues, "and the letter…the location it," she takes a deep breath "it wasn't delivered until yesterday – you couldn't have known."

Emma inhales sharply. "It wasn't…in my mailbox…beforehand?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking aloud might make Regina take back her statement.

"It wasn't in your mailbox beforehand," she replies simply. "You couldn't have known."

"I couldn't have known," Emma repeats, tasting the words, breathing them in.

"It wasn't your fault, Emma," Regina confirms, giving her the tiniest apologetic smile.

"Oh thank God," she feels herself sliding down the wall, knees coming up in front of her as her head falls onto them, the towel bunching up across her lap. "I couldn't have known," she repeats once again, desperate to make herself understand it.

Regina moves slowly, coming to sit carefully – and with unfair grace, Emma thinks – on the floor next to her, back against the wall like the blonde.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, not looking at her – and that's how Emma knows she means it. She can feel the guilt rolling off the other woman.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you last night, I just –"

"You were worried, I get it," Emma reassures her quickly. "I don't blame you for hating me in that moment, I hated myself too," she admits, lifting her head and leaning it back against the wall.

"I shouldn't have blamed you though, it was unfair – and I apologize."

The corners of Emma's mouth lift into a smirk. "It's okay Regina, you don't have to get all formal with me – I'm not mad at you."

"Good," the woman replies, a purpose coming into her tone that Emma's sure is going to result in something bad for her, "because we have work to do."

_Knew it,_ she rolls her eyes.

"Work?" she asks

Regina lets out a huff. "Yes, work."

Emma just looks at her, not bothering to ask for an elaboration. Regina's quite fond of the sound of her own voice – especially when that voice is lecturing Emma on what an idiot she is.

"Oh for goodness' sake, Emma, are you not _concerned_ about the letter?"

Emma frowns. "I thought I was off the hook?"

"You are," Regina sighs – it's her 'Why do I spend my time with such an idiot' sigh. Emma's come to know it somewhat intimately. She tries not to take it as an insult. "But that doesn't mean we don't need to talk about it. For starters about the fact that the postman said it was instructed to _not be_ delivered until yesterday."

The blonde frowns "But… that doesn't make any sense. It was dated three days ago why…why would they not deliver it until yesterday?"

Regina rolls her eyes in her 'Emma's being a spectacular idiot and I am a saint for being so patient with her' way. Again, she tries not to take it as an insult. "I really would have thought it was obvious, dear."

Emma just stares at her, green eyes hard.

The brunette sighs but continues, "Honestly, it sounds like they did it deliberately to taunt you – to make you feel guilty."

"Oh," Emma lets out on an exhale – that does make a surprising amount of sense. "So they're, what? Making it personal?"

Regina licks her lips thoughtfully and Emma averts her eyes. There's something almost indecent about the gesture…or maybe about the way it makes her cheeks burn. "What with the victim trying to talk to you minutes before he was killed and now this… Yes, I'd say they're making it personal. Although – in my opinion at least – it's personal to you as a Sheriff, not to you as you."

"You mean because I'm the law in this town, yeah? Like they're taunting authority to prove they're smarter than us?"

The brunette looks a little shocked at that.

"Yes, that would be my thinking certainly. I don't think they care who the Sheriff is – they just want to make a point that they're breaking your rules in your town. We might be dealing with a mischief maker here."

Emma raises an eyebrow. "A mischief maker?"

Regina nods, a tiny smile pulling at her mouth. "That's what Gold used to call them – criminals who enjoy making mayhem. The kind of people who embellish their crimes, play games just for the fun of it and laugh at the resulting chaos. They're the worst kind of criminal," she says, smile falling away again, concern clear in her tone.

"More difficult to predict," Emma agrees and Regina raises an eyebrow of her own in questioning. Emma shrugs, ever so slightly uncomfortable. "I…was a bit of a mischief maker myself, I guess," she admits.

"Oh do please elaborate," the brunette replies, eyes sparkling and Emma turns her gaze pointedly to her hands.

"I just… I used to like causing chaos. It was only when I was at school, after that I found the less attention I drew to myself the better, the easier to get away with the crimes but…when I was a kid…I dunno." She shrugs. "I guess I found that disrupting things gave me a sense of power – like it was the only way I could be in control. You don't exactly have much when you're in the system, you've gotta grab it where you can."

She looks up shyly, slightly bewildered that all that just came out of her mouth – of all the vulnerable admissions about her childhood – and she just spilt it out as word vomit to Regina.

The gaze she's met with isn't one of amusement though, nor of mocking or disapproval as she'd feared she might find. Instead, Regina's gaze is soft, understanding, and a little bit guilty. Emma doesn't really think about why, it's hardly relevant right now.

There's a long moment of silence and neither of them says anything. Eventually, though, Regina clears her throat.

"Yes, well. You might find that helpful – whoever's behind all this is going to be difficult to catch, and somehow I doubt they're even nearly finished yet. You might find yourself having to get back into that mind frame if you want to catch them."

Emma nods slowly, letting her head fall back against the wall again. "Yeah…let's hope it doesn't come to that."

Regina makes a little hum of agreement. "There's something else," she says and Emma groans,

"What?"

"It was dated three days ago." Regina says

Emma looks at her pointedly and Regina sighs again. "The party was announced two days ago."

"Oh," _oh_ "what the hell?" she exclaims. "How is that possible, how did they know?"

"That's exactly the problem," Regina rubs a hand across her face. "They _knew_. Emma, somehow they knew everyone would be there."

"How?" Emma asks, voice dropping back to a whisper. The guilt she's been feeling is now being quickly replaced with fear. Whoever's behind this has already proved themselves formidably clever – and they might have only just started.

Regina lets out an exasperated sigh, letting her own head fall back against the wall next to Emma's. It's such a vulnerable, familiar gesture – the like of which she knows Regina would never have been comfortable making around her perhaps even just a few months ago. She never realizes how much she values those moments until they happen, but when they do, she finds herself basking in the familiarity of them, the warmth they bring to her chest. It's in those moments that she fully comprehends – she and Regina are almost, kind of, _friends_ now. Somehow, someway, they've ended up in a place where they not only tolerate each other but actually _support_ each other. Objectively, it's weird as fuck – considering all their history. Subjectively though, she wouldn't change it for the world – they do share a son after all – being able to rely on each other is kind of the ideal situation.

"I don't know," the brunette replies, voice matching Emma's in volume, a hint of annoyance and exasperation mixed into it. "I just don't know."

She tilts her head to the side, finding Regina's eyes on her, expression concerned. Her brown eyes are so intense, so full of emotion. "I am sorry for the way I acted last night, Emma," she says, voice even lower than before.

Emma blinks, slightly startled. "You don't need to apologize."

"No, I do. You were feeling awful and I just made it worse. I'm sorry."

Emma feels a lump form in her throat – this might just be the most open Regina's ever been with her "Regina," she says, trying to make her voice reassuring, "you're the one that was there for me last night, you tried to comfort me – but I get why you were mad at me. I was mad at me."

The brunette looks a little unsure but takes it, nodding slightly.

A thought occurs to the blonde and she frowns. "Regina?"

"Yes?"

"Why _were_ you here?"

The other woman's eyes widen fractionally, but she composes herself quickly. "Henry was worried," she says. "He wanted to come back here so you weren't alone when you came home. He said," she pauses, looking almost…shy. "He said he wanted us all to be together – in case something happened."

Emma feels the corners of her mouth pull up in a tiny smile. "He said that?"

Regina nods, eyes fixed on Emma's face, watching her reaction intently.

"Sneaky little shit."

The brunette rolls her eyes, barely suppressing the smirk that tugs at her lips.

"What did you do with Grace?"

Regina shrugs, and again Emma can't help thinking that the casualness of the gesture suits her. "She slept in Henry's room and I took them both to school together."

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "Wait you let them sleep, like, together?" she asks.

"Emma they're twelve," Regina replies pointedly.

"Yeah but…I mean –"

"Emma?" Regina cuts her off. "I really don't think Henry having a girl in his room is something you need to be worrying about right now…or ever," she adds, much quieter.

"Wait, what?"

"Emma," Regina says sternly.

"Right," the blonde says, "priorities. Okay," she nods to herself.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes until Regina finally breaks it. "Emma?"

She hums in acknowledgement. "Whoever's doing this – they're smart, and I expect they'll be pretty ruthless."

"So?"

"So…just try not to get yourself killed or anything stupid like that."

The blonde's about to laugh, but as she meets Regina's gaze, she realizes the woman is deadly serious. That's genuine concern on her face. She's scared – and that probably has Emma more worried than anything else, because it takes a lot to scare Regina.

"Don't worry," she grins, trying to lighten the mood. "I'd never give you the satisfaction."

The brunette just looks at her, not bothering to deign that with a response. Emma holds her gaze, challenging her.

"Emma Swan, you better be fucking dead in here, I swear to Go – _oh_." Ruby stops short, staring slack-jawed at them. Emma can only stare back like a deer caught in headlights, remembering all too suddenly that she's only dressed in underwear.

"_Seriously_?" Ruby lifts her arms heavenwards in apparent frustration. "The town's in chaos and you two decide now is the time for a _quickie_?"

Regina and Emma exchange a quick glance, one that's a strange mixture of confusion, guilt, and embarrassment.

"What?" Emma asks, voice shaky, pulling the towel awkwardly across her body.

Ruby looks positively offended.

"I literally cannot believe you," she says, shaking her head. "Put some goddamn clothes on, we need you."

With that she turns on her heel, long hair flipping dramatically behind her as she storms out again.

Emma and Regina share another bewildered gaze, and then the blonde scrambles off the floor and stumbles back into her room, picking up the clothes she's left discarded around the place. She pulls them on angrily – not sure exactly why she's so angry, but angry nevertheless.

"Emma, get your butt out here!" Ruby calls and Emma grumbles something under her breath about wolfish friends and their lack of patience.

She walks out of her room and Regina's waiting for her, following her round the corner to where Ruby is standing, back ramrod straight in the hallway. Everything about her posture says that she's on high alert, and it makes worry begin to pool in Emma's stomach.

"You clothed now?" the girl asks, raising an eyebrow.

"What's going on, Ruby?" Emma asks, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance.

"The town's going crazy," she says, as if it should be obvious. Emma looks at her a little blankly, hyper-aware of Regina at her elbow looking the girl up and down with barely-disguised disdain.

"There was a _murder_ last night, Emma. A murder which was announced beforehand – did you think people were just going to forget that?"

"Of course I didn't."

Ruby just stares at her.

"Well not completely."

She keeps staring at her and Emma winces. "Okay, how badly are they reacting?"

"_Badly_. It's worse than when the invites came out, everyone's panicking, demanding to know what you're going to do about it."

"Shit," Emma wipes a hand across her face.

"We need a plan, Emma, we need something to tell them."

"Okay, well, erm…" she trails off, unsure of what to actually do.

"Emma?" Regina takes a tiny step closer. "Just think. What do you want us to do?"

Suddenly it's like Neverland again. She's standing staring at a map, her son's life hanging in the balance, lost and unsure. But Regina's at her elbow, a steadying presence that's grounding her, telling her to _lead_. So she does.

Emma snaps to attention. "Call my parents," she instructs the girl, "tell them to get down to the station. Jefferson as well. I want Jefferson and Thomas on crowd control. I want to get everyone gathered together this evening so we can address them – tell Mary Margaret I'm gonna need her with me to do that, people will listen to her."

Ruby nods taking everything in.

"Then I need you to call Lilly, I want you and her working the case. Look for anything, everything. Talk to Whale, see if they've found anything. Whatever you find, report back to me _immediately_, okay?"

The girl looks a little shocked but hums in understanding. "Okay – anything else?"

"No that's it," Emma nods, both to the others and herself, confirming her plan of action.

"Right," Ruby nods again, "on it," she says, pulling out her phone and jogging out the front door. Emma watches through the open front door as Ruby jumps into her car and drives away before turning back to Regina. The woman's looking at her with a strange expression – if she didn't know better she might even think it were pride.

Emma feels a tiny crease appearing between her eyebrows. "What?"

Regina shakes her head gently. "Nothing. What can I do to help?"

"Keep an eye on Henry?" Emma says with a little wry smile, which, to her internal delight – Regina reciprocates.

"I'll take him back to mine tonight – keep him out of the way," she agrees. "If you need anything else just call me – just, not for replacement clothing," she adds raising an eyebrow pointedly. "Though I do understand that that might be difficult – considering you are, in fact, a five year old."

She smirks wickedly, before turning on her heel and sweeping past Emma out the open door.

Emma runs back into the lounge and picks up her jacket, shrugging it on as she heads back out the door, pulling it shut behind her. That, she is definitely taking as an insult.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"Can't you just do it for me?" Emma whines, looking up at her mother with the best puppy eyes she can muster.

"Emma, you're the Sheriff – you're the closest thing to a ruler we have anymore. It needs to be you," Snow tells her calmly but the blonde shakes her head.

"You were their Queen – they still see you as a Queen. It needs to be you!"

The other woman sighs, shaking her own head. "You've got to learn to grow up and assume responsibility, Emma."

Her mouth falls open in shock because _ouch_, that really hurts. Just a couple of months ago her mother was complaining that she was too grown up to be her child anymore, that she wasn't good enough because she was a grown up. Now the woman's complaining that she's what – immature? Didn't she _want_ someone to mother? Because that's what Emma needs right now – she needs her mother to be her mother and help her out. Besides – who is she to lecture her on assuming responsibility? Emma's not the only one in the room who gave up a child.

Snow seems to realize that what she's said is problematic though – perhaps because Emma's gone so deathly quiet. She sighs again, heavier, more resigned.

"I'll help you out with it – but you should really talk to them yourself."

Emma groans, but takes it. She needs all the help she can get really – she's not a public speaker. The only public speaking she's ever done was when she was campaigning to be Sheriff – and Gold sort of helped her out with what to say there. It also helped that she actually _had_ something to say.

Now, she has no idea. She has about as many answers as the panicking masses.

The phone starts to ring and she groans even louder, grabbing it and pulling it to her ear

"Sheriff's station?"

"Sheriff! Thank God! The gnomes, they're everywhere! I don't know what they're doing but they're planning something, I know it!"

"Oh for God's sake," Emma mutters. "Kathryn now is really not the time," she addresses the woman, trying to sound professional and not let her annoyance clear in her tone.

"No but, Emma, I can hear them laughing – don't you get it? They're laughing at me!"

Emma bangs her head on the desk. "Who's laughing at you, Kathryn?" she asks through her teeth.

"They are! I need you to send someone out here, I'm not sure I can take them on my own!"

The blonde takes a deep breath – with everything that's happening, she really doesn't have the time for Kathryn's apparent mental breakdown.

"Okay, Kathryn, okay. I tell you what, I'll send someone over and we'll get you sorted, okay?"

"Yes! Yes, thank you! But please hurry," the woman begs.

"Someone will be with you very soon," Emma confirms, before hanging up the phone as quickly as she can.

"That was Kathryn?" Snow asks, looking confused.

"Yep," Emma replies, not looking up from her phone where she's scrolling through contacts.

"Is she okay?"

"If by okay you been _batshit crazy_ then, yeah, she's okay."

"What?" the other woman's eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean," the blonde says, pressing dial and lifting the phone to her ear, "is that I am sending someone over – but it's not going to be one of my deputies."

"Then who –"

Emma interrupts Snow's question when someone answers on the other end of the line "Hey Whale? It's Emma."

"Sheriff," the man responds. "What can I do for you? Need help with something?"

"Yeah, yeah. I need you to do me a favor."

.

.

.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Snow responds quickly and Emma rolls her eyes.

"Don't fool yourself – you're judging, judging hard," she sighs, staring at her mother across her desk.

The woman sighs wearily, tilting her head to the side in a way that Emma tries and fails to not find patronizing in its overly-motherly nature. You can't pick and choose when to mother, that's not fair.

"I just…I just think that getting the woman committed was a little harsh."

"I didn't get her committed – they're just holding her for observation."

"For the indefinite future," Snow adds, voice almost scolding in tone and Emma lets out an angry huff.

"There is a murderer running round town," she snaps back. "Sorry if I don't have the time to deal with a mentally unstable woman running around as well."

"_Emma_."

"What! It's for her benefit as well – if she's not mentally stable then she's an easier mark for the murderer, isn't she?" she defends. Snow narrows her eyes but says nothing else. "Look can we just get on with working out what we're going to tell everyone please?"

The other woman nods, turning her attention back to the piece of paper she's been scribbling on.

They sit in silence for a little longer before the phone starts ringing again and Emma suppresses the urge to scream. What now? What could possibly be happening now?

"Sheriff's station?" she answers through firmly gritted teeth.

"Sheriff? It's Hannah, Hannah Montague from the baker's," a female voice answers and Emma nods to herself. She knows Hannah, the baker's daughter – Fred introduced them. Girl makes a great Danish.

"Hey, Hannah, what can I do for you?" she asks, trying to inject a little more gentleness into her tone.

"Erm, I don't know it's just…well…there's a kid here," she says, sounding a little dazed.

"A kid?" Emma asks. "Do you know who it is?"

"No…no I don't…I don't think he's from town I don't think he's…I don't know."

Emma frowns, the beginnings of worry tugging at her. "Hannah, talk to me, tell me about this kid – how old is he?"

"I don't know," the girl's voice is getting more dazed, more confused with every word. "He's only little though but he's…there's blood but he's…he's so…"

"Blood?" Emma asks, suddenly becoming much more alert. "Is he hurt, d'you need an ambulance?"

"No…no he's…oh…"

"Oh? Oh what? Hannah talk to me?" Emma's clutching the phone to her ear now, confused and anxious

"He's knocking…I think he wants to come in. He looks so frightened, I should let him in."

"Okay, Hannah, I'm gonna get an ambulance round to you – you let him in, check he's okay. We need to find his parents – I'm sure someone's looking for him."

"Okay," she can hear the sound of nodding on the other end. From what she's heard, Hannah's a good kid – but right now, she sounds high as a goddamn kite. "Okay. I'm going to let him in," she adds, before hanging up.

Emma shakes her head. That conversation might have been even weirder than the one she just had with Kathryn. She also doesn't know why it's made her feel quite so uneasy. She gets up, ready to head around to the baker's – she'll call the hospital on the way – and notices her mother's left the room. The other woman is perched on a desk in the bullpen, speaking quietly into the phone out there – Emma didn't even hear it ring. There's a little crease between Snow's eyebrows that Emma both hates and loves that she recognizes from the mirror, and when she hangs up the phone she looks up at her with intense confusion on her face.

"That was Joe, from the Rabbit Hole," she says. "He says there's a kid in his garden."

The blonde's eyes widen fractionally. "What?"

Snow crosses her arms, frown deepening. "He says there's a kid in his garden knocking at the window asking to come in – said he doesn't recognize her from round town either. I said we'd send someone round, but that he should let her in, check she's okay."

Emma feels the worry start climbing up her chest. "Okay that's really weird," she breathes out.

"Why?"

"Because I just had an almost identical phone call from Hannah Montague."

"The baker's daughter?" Snow asks, looking as confused as Emma feels.

"Yeah, you know – the one who –"

"The one who makes the really great Danishes?"

"Yeah, her, and she said there was a little boy at her door asking to –" she's cut off by the sound of the phone starting to ring again, and lets out a little nervous chuckle. "Oh come on."

Emma walks back into her office and picks up the phone. "Sheriff's station?"

"Sheriff, have there been any reports of missing children lately?"

"No. There wouldn't happen to be a child at your door would there?" she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yes! Yes, how did you know?"

"Call it a lucky hunch," she bites out, probably a little meaner than called for, but the caller doesn't seem to mind. "Can I take your name and address, please?"

"Yes it's Andrea, Andrea Weiss – I live at 92 Mifflin Street."

"Mifflin Street?" Emma asks quickly, snapping to attention.

"Yes – will you send someone? The poor lamb looks ever so unhappy. Oh, oh, she's knocking on the door – I think she'd like to come in. I'll look after her, but do send someone soon won't you?"

The line goes dead and Emma begins to feels distinctly uneasy. She walks back out of the office to see her mother staring at her.

"Emma, what on earth is going on?"

She lets out a tiny, humorless laugh. "I have no idea – but I gotta get around to Mifflin Street. I'll call Rubes on the way but can you call David and get him to –"

She's cut off yet again by the phone ringing.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she breathes as she heads back to her office to answer it, but just as she reaches for the phone she hears another one start to ring. She exchanges a quick glance with her mother, who's now staring at the phone on the desk next to her in concern. The phone on the desk next to it begins to shake as it too, starts ringing. Soon the phones on all the desks are singing with activity.

Emma stares from them to her mother and back again, panic beginning to bubble through her chest. She feels the cell in her pocket start to vibrate and it finally brings her to reality.

"What the fuck is going on?" she breathes. Her mother just stares at her, shock and confusion etched into her features.

"Call David. Call Ruby. Call _everyone_," she tells her mother firmly. "Tell them to get here and start answering these calls, do _not_ let them go out and respond to them. Keep everyone here. I have to go."

With that she hooks her jacket off her chair and shrugs it on, grabbing her gun and holstering it before heading for the door at a jog – not waiting for her mother's questions.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

She pulls up on Mifflin Street and jumps out of her car. Honestly she's never paid much attention to any of the other houses here, she doesn't even know where ninety-two is – not that ninety-two is where she's going. Apparently there's freaky children invading town, and there's one on Regina's street – of course she has to check on her, it's only polite. And Henry, obviously. Henry might be home, she doesn't even know what time it is. She runs up the path to 108, pounding on it with her fist.

"Regina? Regina! You in there?" she calls, and she hears movement on the other side of the door. It swings open a second later and Regina's standing there, looking up at Emma in confusion.

"Emma?" she asks, "What's wrong?"

"We need to get inside," the blonde says without answering the question.

"_What_?"

Emma looks around nervously, as if something might attack them at any minute "Inside," she says again. "_Now_."

Regina raises her eyebrows but steps aside, letting Emma move past her and shut the door.

"Miss Swan, what exactly is this about?" Regina asks, impatience clear in her tone – as if it weren't made clear enough by the arms folded across her chest and the foot she has tapping agitatedly on her polished wooden floor.

"Okay what…" Emma bristles, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to try and keep her temper in check. "_Why_," she starts again, "have you developed this habit of reverting to 'Miss Swan-ning' me whenever I do something you find even remotely irritating?"

"Oh good, so you have noticed," Regina deadpans. "So pleased to see you're learning to recognize basic behavioral patterns."

Emma lets out another little indignant huff. "Have you seen any children around?" she asks, impatiently.

A tiny crease appears between Regina's eyebrows. "What does that have to do with anything?" she asks, and Emma narrows her eyes.

"Okay, that was a non-answer," she says carefully, trying to control the knot of fear growing in her stomach. "I need an _actual_ answer. Have. You seen. Any children?"

"Who's that mean lady?"

Emma's head snaps up, heart dropping to her stomach in fear as she does. There's a little boy standing in the doorway to the dining room, blonde head barely as high as the door handle. She doesn't care how small he is though – he's ragged looking, covered with the odd patch of blood – exactly matching all the other descriptions.

"Regina, get behind me," she says, voice low and _not_ panicked. Not at all.

"Emma, for the love of –"

"Get. Behind me!" she orders, not taking her eyes off the unoffending child.

"For goodness' sake, Emma, I know you have a deep-seated fear of motherhood – which, incidentally, you might want to talk to Dr. Hopper about. Cricket or not he's actually a half-decent – Emma what the –!"

The blonde cuts her off – rolling her eyes in frustration – one hand snaking aggressively around her waist and pulling them both towards the front door.

"Regina," she hisses, "now's really not the time."

The child's started walking towards them, small face serene. "Please don't run away from me," he says, voice disarmingly sweet. "Please. I just want to play."

Regina turns in Emma's grip to look at her, gaze conveying clearly that she thinks the woman's insane. Emma disagrees – Regina is clearly the one who's insane.

"Emma he's just a child," the brunette replies, trying to pull herself free. "He needs help – look at him."

"The only help he needs is psychological," Emma grunts as she tries to open the door with one hand – why does it have so many goddamned elaborate fastenings?

"Please come play with me?" the child asks, reaching a hand out and – to Emma's horror – Regina, eyes looking a little glazed, starts to mimic the gesture.

"Shit," she swears under her breath. She can't get the door off the chain whilst holding Regina, and the bloody kid is almost touching Regina's fingertips. "Fucking shit," she swears again. "Fucking crappity – cupboard!" she cries in delight as she spies the coat closet to her left. She reaches out quickly and tugs the door to the closet open, spinning them both so she can push Regina inside. For a moment she thinks she might see Regina's hand brush against the child's, but she doesn't bother with it – instead just shoving the woman away.

"Play with me?" a voice asks her and she looks down in horror to see the kid almost upon her, before letting out a squeal of surprise she would later deny, and throwing herself into the closet after the other woman, pulling the door shut aggressively behind her.

"_Emma_," a voice says behind her and she's 99.9% that the glazed look will no longer be in Regina's eyes when she turns around.

She's right.

"What the _hell_ are you playing at?" the brunette asks, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. Goddamn the woman is scary when she's angry. Emma tries not to shrink under her gaze.

"Saving your life. Possibly," she says, sounding more sheepish than she'd like.

"In the coat closet?" Regina raises an eyebrow, folding her arms back across her chest.

"Look I couldn't get the door open and the kid was going for you – this was the only option!" she says defensively.

"That 'kid' has clearly been separated from his parents and needs _help_, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _you_?" Emma asks incredulously. "Did that really seem like a normal innocent toddler to you?"

"Of course he's not normal!" Regina hisses back. "He's clearly been in some kind of accident. He's probably in shock, he needs human contact – and a hospital probably, then we should call the nuns and –"

"No!" Emma puts a hand out to stop the other woman as she makes for the door, keeping her other clasped firmly around the handle. "If you think I'm letting you go out there you're off your fucking rocker."

Regina looks unimpressed.

"He's a child," she says very simply, though anger is certainly not absent from her tone. "Pray tell me exactly what threat you think he poses."

Emma opens her mouth and then closes it again. Okay so she's not really sure the nature of the threat the child – the _children_ – might pose. Only that, by the time each of the five phones in the station was buzzing with activity, there was this sickening feeling in her gut that told her whatever was going on was _not_ good.

Regina narrows her eyes again. "Therapy, seriously, I think you should consider it."

Emma lets out a frustrated groan. "Oh for God's sake, Regina, this is not some overreaction to any fear of parenting I may or may not have – whether it be deep-seated or otherwise."

Regina raises an eyebrow but Emma continues before the other woman can come up with a smart response. "I got a call at the station from Hannah Montague," she continues, speaking fast so the brunette most definitely won't have the chance to interrupt her. "Yes, Hannah Montague the baker's daughter – short, skinny, freckles, makes a great Danish don't tell Rubes I said that anyway – not the point.

"Got a call from Hannah – she says 'Hey Sheriff, there's a little kid in my garden' so I'm all 'Oh weird okay I guess you better let him in we'll go see if anyone's lost one' but then Mary Margaret says 'Hey, Joe from the Rabbit Hole called – says there's a kid in his garden' and I'm all 'Hey that's strange because I just got a call saying the exact same thing from Hannah Montague – yes Hannah the baker's daughter the one who makes the great Danishes, don't tell Ruby I said that'"

She takes in a deep lungful of air, but continues, because the brunette looks like she dearly wants to interject.

"So here's the thing – just as I'm about to head out to respond the phone rings _again_ and this time it's from someone called Andrea – take it she's your neighbor – not that you'd know that, know you're not exactly friendly with them in fact – now that I think about it – wasn't Andrea one of the ones who were in on the whole gassing extravaganza?"

Regina opens her mouth to answer but Emma barrels on.

"Wow what a bitch, I hope creepy kid did get her – anyway – not the point. Point is, I got another call and another one and another and the phones just started ringing and okay I haven't answered them all but I'd bet you the Bug that they're all the same call and if they are then there is something decidedly not good going on and it has to do with those kids so please excuse me for being a little careful until we know what the ever-loving fuck is actually going on – besides, you can never trust little kids, they're fucking creepy. I mean, have you ever seen any horror movie ever, it's always the kids that did it. You can never trust them, sneaky little psychopaths, the only people who survive horror movies are the ones with the good sense to butcher any children under the age of fifteen right at the fucking beginning," she finishes, taking a long, gasping breath and finally taking a proper look at the other woman.

Regina's staring at her unblinking, face a strange balance of confusion and downright concern. There's a long pause and Emma flinches, registering exactly how that last part must have sounded.

"I'll consider the therapy," she concedes.

Regina lets out a little breath of air and then gives her the kind of smile you might give to someone highly mentally unstable, the meant-to-be-reassuring non-grin that says 'I don't think there's anything wrong with you' with thinly veiled 'please don't murder me messily in a coat closet' right behind it.

"_Do that_."

Emma rubs a frustrated hand over her face. "God, look, I know how all that must have sounded okay but I really –"

She's cut off abruptly by the door being handle being rattled, firmly, in her grasp.

"Let me in," a small voice says, sending shivers up her spine. "Let me in, please." However young that voice might sound, there's something insistent in the 'please' that has her distinctly on edge. There's an entitled tone in it, the kind that makes her think this child is not used to being told no.

Apparently Regina seems to hear it too, as she's walking forwards again but makes no move for the handle. Instead she stands opposite Emma, facing her, one ear to the door.

"What if we say no?" she asks carefully.

The door handle rattles violently in Emma's grip as a response.

"Let me _in_."

Regina's gaze snaps up to meet Emma's. "I'll accept you might be onto something with the children," she says formally, just as the handle – and consequently the door – give a violent shake in response.

"_You think_?" Emma asks, wide eyed as she grips with all her strength to the door handle, panting at the effort it's taking to keep the door from being pulled open from the other side. "I mean, I'm not the hulk or anything but you'd think I could take down a toddler in a tug of war," she grits out as the shaking of the door increases in violence.

"Technically, you're winning," Regina says in an irritatingly calm tone, but then the door gives a shudder as something is thrown against it from the outside and the little squeak of surprise that leaves her mouth has Emma grinning despite herself.

"Let. Me. _In_," the little voice screams, accompanied by another crash against the door and Emma loses her grin, looking to Regina in panic.

"You know a little magic would be really handy right about now if you don't wanna face what I'm guessing is gonna be the crown jewel of all tantrums."

"I'm not your magic slave."

"And I'm not your fucking bodyguard but I don't see anyone else standing between you and a possibly homicidal toddler," Emma huffs out angrily.

"Possibly being the operative word," Regina replies smoothly.

There's another crash against the door and a disconcerting sound of cracking.

Emma just stares pointedly at the other woman.

She sighs. "Oh for Goodness sake." She moves closer and puts a hand on top of Emma's, closing her eyes in concentration. The blonde feels the wave of magic as it passes through her, and wonders idly if it was really necessary for Regina to move quite so close to her as she did it – or to be touching her – but she files the question away and instead just looks expectantly at her.

"Done?"

"I've reinforced the door and put a bubble spell on the cupboard," she says shrugging, "we should be fine."

"Well, thank fuck for that." Emma lets out a sigh of relief and lets go of the handle, flexing her hand before sliding down to sit against the wall. "My hand was cramping up."

Regina doesn't move, looking at her expectantly. "Well?" she asks

"Well what?"

"What's your plan now? We can't stay in here forever."

"Oh," Emma nods to herself. "Yeah good point."

"Of course it is, I made it," Regina replies before sliding down to sit next to her. "But that doesn't answer my question."

The blonde nods again, somewhat absently. "Well I hadn't actually, you know, thought past…well, now," she admits.

The brunette rolls her eyes. "Brilliant."

"Hey, don't blame me you're the one who let fucking Chucky in the house," Emma grumbles.

Regina raises an eyebrow in question and Emma gapes at her. "Seriously? Chu…? Have you ever even _watched_ a horror movie?"

"Never really saw the appeal," the brunette replies, distaste clear on her face.

"You don't see the appeal of fun," Emma mumbles under her breath.

The other woman doesn't appear to see that comment as worthy of a response, instead turning to a different matter.

"So," she starts as there's a muffled thump against the door – it makes Emma wince, but Regina seems completely un-phased. "Did you find out what the books were?"

The blonde frowns. "What books?"

"The books Henry's been reading?" she asks, unimpressed. "You know – the top secret ones he only reads at your house."

"Oh, that," Emma flinches. "Okay, about that…"

"Why do I get the impression I am not going to like what you have to say?" Regina asks through her teeth and Emma flinches again.

"Okay look, I've been kinda busy with the whole shitload of crazy which appears to have descended on the town – you might have noticed it," she adds sarcastically.

"Get to the point, Emma," the woman responds impatiently.

"I haven't had a chance to look yet," she finishes sheepishly, and Regina sighs. "Come on! You can't blame me for being busy – these last few days have been fucking insane," she says defensively.

"Must you swear _so_ much?" Regina asks, shaking her head at her. "If you're not careful, Henry will pick up on it."

"I don't swear around Henry."

"I find that very hard to believe considering the amount you swear around me."

Emma's still vaguely aware of the sound of banging and thumping against the door, but somehow she's no longer so worried about what's going on on the other side – this side of the door holds far more interest for her.

"I swear around you so much because you're fucking _infuriating_," Emma replies angrily.

Regina smirks. "I think we already established that you're the infuriating one."

"Seriously?" Emma asks, gawking at her. "That's rich coming from a woman who wouldn't even let me see my own son when I first met her."

Regina bristles. "It was a closed adoption – you had no right to him. Sticking your ineffective parenting skills in where they're not legally allowed is the very definition of infuriating."

Emma laughs a cold, unamused laugh. "Oh you want to talk about the definition of infuriating? Let's go with sacrificing herself to save a town and leaving said owner of the 'ineffective parenting skills' to explain to their child that his mother had got herself blown up – but that it was _all okay_, because at least she'd done it for them." The last part is practically dripping with a mix of anger and sarcasm that leaves the brunette gaping at her.

There's a long, slightly awkward silence – in which neither woman seems to notice the fact that the banging against the door appears to have stopped. Then, finally, Regina's voice breaks through the silence – quieter and much less aggressive than before.

"I, erm," she coughs uncomfortably, "I had no idea you were mad about that."

"You're damn right I was mad about it," Emma replies, voice still full of anger but quieter too.

Regina swallows, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows "Why?" she asks – and she sounds almost incredulous.

Emma gapes at her "Because…Regina you _sacrificed yourself_. For us. And I," she pauses, taking a breath, "I let you," she finishes, dropping her eyes guiltily to her knees.

The brunette is quiet again for a minute or so before she finally speaks up. "No, you didn't," she says, and Emma finds her eyes drifting to meet the other woman's gaze. Regina's brown eyes are soft, there's no anger or accusation in them as Emma feels there should be. "You saved me," she says simply.

"I mean – you saved all of us – but most people would have been alright anyway. You saved me, you – you came back." The last part is almost a question, so Emma answers.

"Yeah," she nods. "Yeah, I did."

Regina frowns. "Emma, I didn't call you," she says matter-of-factly, and Emma frowns herself, head spinning.

"What?"

"Today. You said you were getting lots of calls, but I didn't call you."

"Is there a point to this?" Emma asks, eyebrows raised.

"Why are you here?"

The blonde swallows nervously. That was a question she was neither expecting nor prepared for.

"I…well I got that call from Andrea," she says a little lamely.

"If I'm not mistaken – Andrea lives at 92. This is 108 – so why are you _here_?" Regina asks, looking at Emma with an intensity that – if she weren't a grown woman – would make her squirm.

She opens her mouth but no words come. Why is she here? She doesn't even know herself. She heard that there was a strange child on Mifflin Street and she'd panicked – rightfully so, it seemed – but it still begged the question _why_. _That_, she just doesn't know, all she knows is that it's the same kind of reason why Regina's stupid sacrifice had made her so angry. It appears she has some inane desire to protect the woman – no matter how infuriating she may be.

_Maybe it's because she's broken_, Emma thinks to herself. Not that she's let on to that too much, but Emma Swan's not a fool – she knows a broken woman when she spots one. Besides, it takes one to know one. Perhaps it's some strange, misplaced sense of camaraderie because of their emotional incompetence. In fact, that would actually make a whole lot of sense.

So she doesn't always _like_ Regina a whole lot – the infuriating-ness helps to guarantee that – but she still feels a sense of protectiveness towards her. Maybe it is because she feels a certain kinship with her due to their problems – a family of fucked up, emotional rejects.

For fuck's sake she doesn't _know_. She's damned if she understands the draw of this pretentious, classist, bossy, pedantic, control-freakish, bitchy goddamn drama queen – and yet drawn, somehow, she jolly well appears to be.

Not that she can really tell her any of that.

Emma shrugs, awkwardly. "Why d'you think?"

Regina gives a tiny smile that almost looks wistful. "Henry?" she asks.

Emma blinks, stunned. Wow that would be a really good reason. A _great _reason. In fact it probably did use to be the reason – probably _is _still a part of it – but she's sure as all hell that's not all it is anymore.

Not that she's going to admit that though, obviously.

"Course," Emma replies, ignoring the way her voice sounds a little hoarse with the lie. "Henry."

Regina nods, and for a moment Emma thinks she might say something else – but then there's a shout from outside and both women jump almost out of their skins.

"Mom?" Henry's voice comes through the muffled bubble spell. "Mom, you home?"

Both women jump up to their feet, registering for the first time that the attack on the door appeared to have stopped a while ago.

"Mom?" Henry's voice calls again, a little unsure and both women reach for the handle instinctively, trying to open the door – only to be met with stinging magical resistance.

"Ow _fuck_!" Emma curses, shaking her injured hand aggressively to remove the stinging sensation. Regina deals with the injury with much more grace, reaching for the handle again just as Emma tries pulling on it once more and both women are given another stinging jolt up the arm.

"Oh for God's sake, stop touching it it's only going to keep shocking you!" Regina snaps.

"Well then remove the thingy!" Emma exclaims waving her hands up and down and bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"I'm going to remove the thingy," Regina says through gritted teeth, and Emma tries not to take child-like delight in the fact that she got the ever-uptight Regina Mills to say the word 'thingy'.

"Mom?" Henry's voice calls through the house again, and he sounds concerned.

"Well, then remove the thingy!"

"Do you want a slap?"

"Is now really the time?" Emma replies, grinning and Regina rolls her eyes, giving a little exasperated sigh. That right there is another thing the blonde needs to get under control – that's like twice in two days she's made flirty jokes at Regina. At _Regina_. She really needs to sort herself out.

Finally she feels Regina lifting the spells around the door and she pushes forwards, opening the door from her position behind the other woman and causing them to spill out somewhat unceremoniously into the foyer.

Henry, standing looking confused by the front door, turns to look at them both – brow furrowing. His brown gaze looks from Emma, still trying to shake the stinging sensation out of her hand, to Regina as she straightens her clothes and tries to look as dignified as possible for just having stumbled out of a cupboard, and back again.

"Emma?" he asks carefully, small brow furrowing as his gaze continues to shift between the two women

"Yeah, kid?" she replies awkwardly.

Henry frowns. "What were you doing in the closet with my mom?"


	2. The Masquerade

"What is it with people and mother_fucking_ kids?"

"I thought you were going to get some therapy?" Regina quips, walking out of the kitchen with an amused smirk on her face.

The blonde startles, looking up in shock at the elegantly dressed woman in front of her – taking in the brunette's amused expression and the large knife in her hand. "_Why?_" she asks, a strange mix of incredulous and infuriated at this unexpected invasion. "_Why_ are you here?"

The brunette rolls her eyes and disappears back into the kitchen, not waiting to see if Emma will follow. She does, of course she does.

"I take it people are still raving about how adorable the little visitors were, are they?" Regina asks, though Emma doesn't reply.

"Why are there grocery bags on my counter?" she asks instead, voice full of suspicion.

"Because according to Henry the only food you had in was pizza and ice cream – which, incidentally, he was right about," she adds before Emma can protest

"Okay, I happen to know for a fact that pizza is _your_ favorite food – on top of which your donut obsession is like a whole other level," Emma challenges and Regina coughs awkwardly.

"My eating habits aren't what's relevant right now."

"They are when you're being a hypocrite," the blonde quips back. "You eat pizza so why shouldn't I?"

"Because I have other things in my kitchen _besides_ pizza," Regina counters.

"Hey, it's not like that's all I ever have! I've just been kinda busy recently – if you hadn't noticed. Anyway what does it matter to you?" Emma asks defensively.

"Emma, whilst, a mere few months ago, I might have delighted at the idea of you eating nothing but greasy, fatty, ready meals and dying of a well-deserved heart attack – these days I must begrudgingly admit that your presence in my life is not only unavoidable, but somewhat tolerable – and that consequently I feel a small sense of duty to keep you alive at least a little longer than your pathetic gene pool might otherwise allow."

Emma feels a playful grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, are you actually looking out for my health?"

Regina rolls her eyes as she turns her attention to slicing up a carrot into thin sticks. "Oh please, don't go getting grandiose ideas about your own importance. This is really more for Henry's benefit than yours."

"Oh?" Emma asks, far too innocently.

"I agreed to co-parent with you, not to let my son get scurvy."

"Oh are we back to 'my son' now? You bleed me with your cutting words."

Regina twirls the kitchen knife nimbly between her fingers. "I'll bleed you with my cutting _knife_ in a minute," she threatens.

Emma takes on an expression of mock outrage, "Seriously? You come into my home and try to feed me green things – and then you threaten to murder me? What kind of friend are you?"

"The kind who cursed an entire kingdom," Regina raises an eyebrow suggestively, "So if I tell you that you and Henry are going to start eating green things – then you're going to start eating green things – or there are much worse things I could do to you."

"Touché."

"Besides which carrots aren't even green. Now go put your groceries away, I'm not your house slave."

"Not my house slave, not my magic slave. Weird, because I'm sure that chains were meant to factor into our relationship one way or another," Emma stops somewhat abruptly on the last word, mind jumping immediately to the gutter and realizing the implications of what she's said. She swallows nervously – maybe Regina didn't pick up on it. Her eyes dart to the other woman, whose attention is fixed quite pointedly on the carrot beneath her – a light brush of pink coloring her cheeks. Yeah, right, of course she picked up on it. Apparently they both have filthy minds.

"Right, so, erm – groceries," Emma says awkwardly, "s'pose I should sort them out then."

And with that she picks up a paper bag and scurries over to the fridge, leaving Regina to chop furiously at the remaining vegetables.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Camilla 'Milla' Wasakova had never had much family to speak of. In Fairytale land she'd been a simple farmer's daughter. Until that farmer had been called away to the Ogre Wars and left her on her own – she'd only been fifteen at the time.

Though she couldn't remember them, the two years between losing her father and the casting of the curse had helped her to become incredibly apt at caring for things in the 28 years she'd lived, cursed, in Storybrooke – she had had a whole farm to take care of, after all.

So when the curse broke and she finally began ageing again, there was nothing she felt more like doing than staying on at the orphanage and helping to look after the children who'd become her family.

Even Obie had grinned at the news she wouldn't be leaving them after all.

Milla sighs, pausing in her action of hanging laundry out in the orphanage's large garden. Obie. The kid who she'd honest to god loved like a little brother was gone. Just like that.

She swipes a hand at her eyes to try and stop the tears that are forming there – but it's little use – Obie's dead. Murdered. For what, she can't even begin to imagine – the kid was _fifteen_.

Milla lowers herself to the ground slowly, cradling her head in her hands as the tears begin to flow faster.

She looks across the dull green of the garden, remembering the way a perpetually 13-year-old Obadiah had scampered through it pretending to be everything from Cowboy to Indian. Her eyes drift to where the tree line begins, the garden turning swiftly back into the forest it was stolen from, and she smiles despite herself at the memory of Obie constantly scrabbling his way up through the forbidden branches.

She's jogged from her memories by the sight of a figure standing in that very tree line, staring at her.

"Hello?" she calls, willing her voice not to shake. She can't really make out much, there's something blurry about the figure – like they're not quite there. There's a black coat, perhaps with jeans underneath it – but much else is impossible to distinguish.

"Hello, Milla," they respond, walking forwards slowly. Milla feels her skin crawling and starts to back away – but the blurry figure throws up a hand, palm towards her in supplication. "I'm not here to hurt you, Milla," the figure says, "I'm simply here to give you some advice."

Milla frowns, though she's stopped backing away. "Advice on what?" she asks.

"Life," the figure replies, a note of amusement in the indistinguishable voice.

"The universe, and everything?" Milla asks quickly, giving a shaky laugh.

The figure just scoffs. "Funny girl," it says "Obadiah was funny too."

Milla's eyes widen in horror. "How did you know, Obie?" she asks shakily, resuming her careful stepping back towards the orphanage.

"I caught him in the act of doing something he shouldn't have," the figure replies evenly but Milla shakes her head.

"What? No. Obie's a...he _was_ a good boy. You can't have found him doing anything that bad!"

The figure clucks their tongue. "Not criminal, no. Perhaps frowned upon would be a better way to phrase it. Anyway – that's not what I'm here to discuss."

"What _are_ you here discuss?" Milla asks shakily – though with a touch of steel in her voice – as she steps carefully around the swing set and continues her slow backwards progression to the building.

"You," the figure says, almost gently. "I fear you're dealing with your loss all wrong."

Milla frowns, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"A fifteen year old boy died, just like that. No explanation or anything. Surely that should encourage you to seize the day? Instead you seem to be seizing the chores, more fervently than ever."

"Well, I –" Milla pauses. The thing is – the mysterious figure does sort of have a point.

"Yes?" the figure asks.

"Well," she swallows nervously, "I suppose I haven't...been living as vicariously as one could these past few days – but I…I'm still grieving, Obie's not even been buried yet!"

"And when is he getting buried?"

"The, erm, on the 1st...of December."

"Excellent! Well then – you have a date on which to start living properly. Isn't that what Obie would want?"

She opens her mouth and closes it again, because yes, that is exactly what Obie would want. He would want her to go and seize the day and get laid and generally have some fun.

"You see? Well, Milla, there's plenty of things that happen in December – once our dear Obadiah is indeed departed, I suggest you try and make it to some of them."

With that the figure turns and heads back to the tree line, stopping as they get there to turn around once more, "Oh, and one more thing – be careful out there. Wouldn't want you to go and get yourself hurt too now, would we?"

And Milla feels herself shivering – because even though it sounds like a warning, it feels like a threat.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"Henry! Dinner's ready!"

There's the scrambling sound of movement from the boy's room, and then footsteps scampering towards the kitchen.

"Hi Emma," he smiles as he sits himself at table. "How was work?"

Emma frowns and sits down opposite him. "Regina," she calls, "table – _now_."

The brunette appears from the kitchen looking far too innocent, bowl of carrot sticks in her hand.

"Sit," Emma instructs and for once in her life Regina obeys.

"Something wrong?"

"Something wro –" Emma scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. "Yes there's something wrong! I want to know what the hell you two are up to!"

"Up to?" Regina says, raising an eyebrow. "Why on earth would you assume we're up to anything?"

"Because," Emma says with a deep steadying breath, "There's fresh groceries in my kitchen, you _cooked dinner_," she says accusingly to Regina, "and because the kid asked me how my day was."

"I always ask you how your day was!" Henry protests.

"Not in that tone, you don't," Emma shoots back. "So spill. _Both_ of you."

Regina looks down at the bowl of carrot sticks, guilt clouding her features.

"We just wanted to make sure you were all set up here."

"Before...?" Emma prompts her.

Regina clenches her jaw. "Henry's going to be staying with me for a while."

"What?"

"Emma it's not –" Henry starts, but Emma's not looking at him – she's staring right at Regina, heart in her throat.

"What d'you mean Henry's going to be staying with you for a while?"

"What I mean," the brunette sighs, "is that Henry and I discussed it and between the fact that there's a murderer running around town, that you're out twenty three hours a day currently trying to catch said murderer, and that your house is a fifteen minute drive from civilization – that it would be easier and safer for Henry to just be with me for a while."

"Oh," Emma says, relief flooding through her. She didn't know what she was expecting, but given her reaction it seems it was something bad.

"Not to mention I have, you know, the magic," Regina gives her a tiny wry smile.

"Right," she nods. "No, I guess that makes sense."

She doesn't just guess, it _does_ make sense. Only she wishes that she could have been a part of the conversation.

"Could you not have discussed that with me first?" she asks defensively, "I know we all like to joke that I'm an idiot but I'm still a part of this whole decision making team…thing," she waves a hand around the table, indicating the three of them.

"Do you have a better idea?" Regina asks carefully.

"Well – no, I mean, this is… I agree it's probably the best option, I just –"

"Exactly – see? We knew you'd agree and you don't have the time for this kind of thing right now. It's not like we weren't going to tell you, you just weren't essential to the decision making process."

The blonde opens her mouth and closes it.

"So the food is…"

"We weren't sure how much we'd be seeing you over the next few days," Henry supplies. "And I said to mom how you haven't had time to get any food in and we decided to get you some stuff to make sure that you're eating good food because then you'll have more energy and it might be easier to catch the killer," he finished stumbling over his explanation. "It was my idea," he adds a touch defensively.

Emma smiles gently at him. "It was a lovely idea – thank you, Henry."

He looks up at her and smiles shyly. "So you're not angry that I'm leaving you?"

She shakes her head and chuckles. "No, I'm not angry. Your mom's right, it's a good idea. We wanna keep you safe – even if you're not in direct danger," she adds, in case he's worried.

"So you won't be lonely?"

Emma laughs. "Henry, I live alone half the week anyway – and I did for a good ten years before now. Pretty sure I'll be fine."

"And you promise to eat properly? Mom said that she wouldn't be surprised if you clogged up your arteries with nothing but pastry and coffee with no one but yourself to feed all week."

The brunette coughs uncomfortably as Emma shoots her an accusatory glance.

"Yes, thank you, Henry," she replies stiffly.

Emma just stares at her, shaking her head. "Nice to know you have so much faith in me, donut lover."

Regina rolls her eyes and stands. "At least I eat vegetables," she replies. "Now come and help get dinner on the table."

Emma grumbles but stands, following Regina into the kitchen and mumbling about hypocrisy. She doesn't miss the feel of Henry's sharp gaze on her back as she does so.  
.

.

.  
It doesn't take long to bundle Henry and his stuff into Regina's black Mercedes, and before Emma knows it they're ready to go and leave her to the silence of the empty house.

"Emma?" Regina's standing behind her in the living room, gaze soft.

"Yeah?"

"You are…okay with this, right?"

The blonde nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah, of course! You're right, it makes sense. I mean, I'd probably just be asking you to take him anyway so it's easier to do it like this."

Regina nods. "Okay then. Good," she turns to leave, but then she turns back again. "It's not like you won't be able to come over and see him or –"

"Regina," Emma cuts her off, "really, it's _fine_."

The brunette gives her a small smile and begins to turn, pausing briefly and opening her mouth – as if she wants to say something else – but then she shakes her head and walks through the door without another word.

It's not like she hasn't spent most of her life living by herself, but listening to the sound of the Mercedes drive away, Emma can't help the feeling of loneliness creeping in around her. She stands there in silence for a minute before there's a knock at her door and she feels a smile tugging at her mouth.

She heads for the front door and pulls it open. "Miss me alre…" she trails off, frowning. There's no one there.

Her eyes shift to the floor, and her frown deepens. There, sitting innocently on her doorstep, is a small, painted china, garden gnome.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

The week goes by achingly slowly. Emma supposes it would go quicker if she actually had something to _do_ – but there's very little evidence to go on and consequently she and everyone else at the Sheriff's department just get increasingly agitated.

It doesn't help that they all know what's coming the following Monday. Obie's funeral is looming over them all like a dark shadow – mainly because they're not actually done with the poor kid's body yet – but also because they haven't managed to procure him or his adoptive family any kind of closure.

"We heard from Whale yet?" Emma asks Thomas for about the fiftieth time that day.

"Not since you asked me five minutes ago, no," he replies, giving her a forced smile she doesn't feel she deserves.

"Sorry," she replies. "It's just…the funeral is meant to be –"

"Two days," he interrupts with an understanding look. "I know."

The blonde goes back to tapping her fingers against her desk for a few minutes.

"So people really weren't freaked by the children, huh?" she asks and Thomas rolls his eyes.

"For the millionth time – the ones who saw them said they were adorable, came in, stayed a little while and then skipped merrily off again. The people who didn't, either think there's something in the water or that they were some strange kind of blessing to show danger's passed."

Emma nods. "Right, yeah, okay."

She drums her fingers against the wood for another minute and then opens her mouth, but Thomas beats her to it. "And no, no one who saw them was attacked, traumatized or in fact hurt in any way. The children appeared to be no threat and, yes, everyone except the nuns was so distracted from their presence, coupled with your mother's brilliant public speaking skills – shame you missed that _by the way_ – that they have calmed down remarkably well from Obadiah Jenkins' murder. None of that has changed in the last half hour or so since we last went through it."

Emma huffs but doesn't reply, instead turning her attention to the ever-increasing length of her paper clip chain.

Another few minutes pass in total silence whilst Thomas works quietly through reports until she opens her mouth once again and is joined by Thomas' voice as well.

"_What the fuck is going on_?"

"_I don't know what the fuck is going on_!"

They shout at each other, wide eyed, confusion marring their brows. The both of them collapse onto their arms on their desks, Thomas losing his previous allusion of cool.

"I'm a fucking bounty hunter not a homicide detective."

Thomas scoffs. "You can talk – I'm a fucking _Disney prince_."

The blonde laughs, shaking her head. "Tom, this is so fucked up."

"Tell me about it."

"First off there's the absolutely untraceable invites, then the weird ritualistic murder there was no time for, then there was the goddamn day in the life of _Midwich_ townsfolk." Thomas frowns at the reference. "It's a book, try reading sometime."

"I work for you full time and have a two and a half year old child," he replies blank-faced. "More to the point – you _read_?"

"Of course I read, you idiot," Emma says – why everyone has this impression she's a moron, she doesn't know. Petty thievery and a life of other past crimes does not automatically cancel out intelligence.

"No, but I mean you _read_ read. Like, random obscure literature."

The blonde shrugs. "It's not that obscure."

"I haven't heard of it," Thomas says.

"You lived in a frozen town for twenty eight years, you weren't exactly getting things fresh of the New York Times' best seller list."

"Was it on the New York Times' best seller list?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Well, you're the one that's read it!" Thomas argues back.

"I've read lots of shit – libraries are a very useful place to hide out if you haven't got anywhere else to go."

Thomas' face softens, the playful mocking dropping out of it. "Oh. Sorry, dude, that must have sucked."

Emma shrugs again. "It did sometimes – but turns out books can pretty fun."

The young man smiles. "Lots of fantasy lands to escape to?"

"Well yeah," she nods. "Also if you rip them up and use the pages to line your coat it keeps you so much warmer overnight."

Thomas makes a little choking noise in the back of his throat. "And that right there is why I assumed you weren't a book lover."

"On the contrary," Emma grins. "I love books very much – especially when they're keeping me toasty warm."

He rolls his eyes. "Anyway – back to the matter at hand."

"Right, yeah," Emma nods. "The matter at hand being that we don't have anything that matters in our hands."

"I can help you out with that."

They both turn to see Jefferson striding over to them, looking full of himself – not that that's anything unusual. "Jefferson," Emma greets with an eye roll. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Can it, Emma, or I won't help you out," he snaps in response.

"I'm your Sheriff and you're my deputy, it is your sworn duty to help me out," she says in mock sincerity.

"_Part-time_ deputy," Jefferson points out with a wicked little smirk. "I can stop helping you whenever I want to."

Emma scoffs, not about to get played by _Jefferson_. "Then be my guest, I didn't ask you to come over here. Just know that if you leave now the deaths of countless people will rest on your shoulders – I hope you can deal with that."

"Oh for Christ's sake – d'you want to hear what I've got to say or not?" The blonde grins at him and makes a little sweeping 'go on' gesture with her arm.

"I stopped by the hospital to see how it was going over there."

Emma and Thomas perk up simultaneously, looking eagerly at the hatter.

"You got something?" the blonde asks.

"I fucking hope not – mind you, with all those patients coughing everywhere I wouldn't be surprised. Fucking inconsiderate assholes."

"They're sick, you jerk."

"And I'm healthy – and would very much like to keep it that way, thank you very much."

Emma lets out a breath of exasperation. "We meant did you _find_ anything?"

"Apart from the disgusting case of rot they've got going on downstairs?"

"_Jefferson_."

"Sorry, sorry," he says throwing his hands up in submission. "Yes is the answer, I went to see Whale and found something very interesting."

There's a small pause after which Emma lifts her eyebrows. "Which was…" she prompts.

Jefferson takes a long, dramatic breath and then turns on her. "That you are an _asshole_."

Emma blinks in surprise. "What?"

"Kathryn Nolan," Jefferson says by way of explanation and Emma flinches. Right, _that_. She coughs awkwardly. "What about her?"

"What abou – Emma you had her _sectioned_," Jefferson says and Thomas' eyebrows skyrocket behind him.

"You did _what?"_

"I did not have her sectioned!" Emma defends herself. "I asked Doctor Whale to take her to the hospital and keep her under observation – at least until we've caught the murderer."

"Why?" Thomas asks, looking a little scandalized. "What's wrong with her?"

Emma looks from one man to the other. "Have either of you _talked_ to her recently? The woman's gone completely mental."

"In this town? What a surprise!" Jefferson snarks back.

"No – really," Emma says. "She was jabbering at me about burning children."

Jefferson's interest seems to pique, Emma tries not to find it morbid. "The noun or the verb?"

"The _verb_."

The man gives a low whistle. "Wow, you weren't kidding."

"See? Completely batshit – and with everything that's going on, I decided that she was a threat both to herself and others. Once this is all over, we can try help her out, but until then, I don't have the time to babysit my dad's possibly pyromaniacal ex-wife."

Jefferson gives a little tip of his head which would appear to be agreement, then dips a hand into his pocket, drawing out a small bag.

"Right, well, since we've established that you're actually no more of an asshole than normal – I guess it's only fair I show you what Whale gave to me," he shrugs.

Emma whacks him on the arm. "You could have got to the fucking point."

He merely shrugs. "I found the Kathryn situation far more interesting than trace evidence I don't give a shit about."

"Well, you should give a shit about it," Emma replies, irritation coloring her tone. "Now hand it over."

Jefferson obliges and hands over the small plastic airlock bag. There's a tiny amount of black powder at the bottom of it. Emma brings the bag closer to her face, squinting at it, before turning back to the man expectantly.

"So?" she asks. "What did Whale say?"

.

.

.

"Died of a coronary yet, dear?" Regina's voice greets her on the other end of the phone.

"I spoke to you two days ago."

"Yes, well, cholesterol works quickly."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Suppose you and the donuts would know, wouldn't you? Tell me, how are _your_ blood vessels doing?" she asks, staunchly pretending that she's not grinning into the phone.

"Not as badly as yours, I'm sure."

"Shut up."

"You're the one who rang me."

She coughs. "Yeah I, erm, I need to ask you some questions about the case."

There's a silence on the other end of the phone that Emma takes as startled. "Er – Regina?"

"I'm here."

"Okay, so can I ask some stuff?" Emma frowns, confused by Regina's reaction.

"Go ahead," she sounds colder, more aloof than when she first answered the phone.

"Right, well, we heard back from Whale and there was some weird stuff on the body. First off, there was a little herb bag shoved down his throat – and Whale says the substance in that was yew – like the tree?"

"Go on."

"Erm, yeah, so then he said that there were traces of wormwood, lavender, and dittany on the body," she lists off the things that Jefferson had repeated to her. "Also they found that he'd ingested sandalwood when they checked his stomach contents."

There's an intake of breath on the other end of the phone. "Shit."

The blonde blinks in surprise – Regina never swears – this can't be good.

"Regina?" she asks.

"_Shit_," she repeats.

"What is it?"

"Emma, was there a mark on his body? Like a burn or a –"

"Brand?" Emma finishes for her and Regina lets out a breathy groan.

"We're in trouble."

Emma gulps. "How much trouble – what is all that stuff? What does it mean?"

"Emma, those ingredients – dittany, sandalwood, yew – they're… they're ingredients for a summoning ritual."

The blonde feels her eyes bulge in her head. "Ingredients for a _what now_?"

Regina sighs. "A summoning ritual – the kind of thing you might find those idiot Wiccans using to summon a spirit on Halloween."

Emma chews on her lip. "Look, I'm no expert – but from what I know of all that séance crap – it doesn't usually involve _murder_."

Regina makes a little hum of disagreement on the other end of the phone. "It's not a murder," she says and Emma's mouth falls open.

"I'm pretty fucking sure that killing someone without their express permission is murder – I know you're a little blurry on the subject, but that's the general idea."

She doesn't need to see her to feel Regina's eye roll. "It's normally murder, yes – unless it's something else."

"Something else being…?"

"A sacrifice."

"You've got to be _fucking_ kidding me?" Emma groans. "Someone _sacrificed_ him?"

"Not all sacrifices involve virgins on altars."

"_Well_ –" Emma starts.

"Well what?"

"Did you ever see the kid? I'd say it's a pretty safe bet he was a virgin," she shrugs.

"_Emma_."

"Hey! I'm just trying to be helpful," she defends. "Anyway – you were saying?"

"I was _saying_, that there's a whole load of different summonings and sacrifice rituals out there, and I don't know the half of them," Regina replies, tone implying she's rapidly losing her temper.

"You don't?"

"Not really my brand of witchcraft, Emma."

"It isn't?" she asks, half confused half genuinely interested. Not that she'd admit that.

"Tell me something – have you ever seen me standing over a cauldron?" Regina asks snippily.

"Well – no," Emma admits, "but I always figured you kept that in your dungeon along with all your other toys."

There's silence on the other end of the phone and Emma swears inwardly. She's got to stop fucking _doing_ that. Honestly, these things always sound perfectly innocent in her head and then when they're said aloud to Regina they suddenly sound obscene. It's really not deliberate – not _completely_ at least.

"I don't waste my time playing with herbs," is what Regina eventually replies, getting the conversation back on track.

"How'd you know about them then?"

"I, er, did a lot of reading."

Emma nods, sighing. "Yeah well, _that_ I can relate to."

She hears Regina open her mouth to say something but interrupts before she can. "Don't even start."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"Henry asleep?"

Regina nods, stepping aside to let Emma in the door. "Sorry."

"Nah, s'cool. Don't want him to see me like this anyway," Emma replies, only a little slurred.

"What happened?" Regina's voice is soft as she leads Emma towards her office.

"Nothing," she shrugs as she sits a little ungracefully on the soft couch. "Guess that's just the problem, isn't it?"

Regina merely raises an eyebrow.

"He was dead. Now he's buried and maybe… maybe we know _why_ now. But we don't know _who_. Without who, there's no closure there's no…no…"

"Justice?" the brunette supplies, sitting herself down opposite her.

Emma grunts in agreement.

It hadn't been much of a leap for them, when they picked up on their conversation the previous day, to link together the apparent happening of some sort of summoning and the arrival of Storybrooke's strange visitors the following day. What they hadn't been able to rationalize, was why the children hadn't _done_ anything. Emma had suggested maybe the summoning had been done wrong – caused the wrong things to appear. Regina was wondering more along the lines of someone rationalizing a sacrifice as acceptable if the result was for the greater good – and the strange children _had_ managed to bring a sense of peace to the townsfolk. Emma had been quick to point out that that theory wouldn't explain Murderer – and that left them both a little stumped.

"It's gonna happen again, isn't it?" Emma asks after another long moment of silence, and Regina sighs.

"I think that's very likely, yes."

Emma bangs her head against the couch and wipes a hand roughly across her face. "God, this is so fucking confusing."

Regina hums in agreement. "I can't argue with you there."

"Why didn't they _do_ anything, Regina?" she asks, trying to ignore the note of desperation in her ever-so-slightly slurred voice. "You know I would get it – I would understand if he'd been killed and a giant hoard of evil murdering zombies had been unleashed on us, but they…they just came and went. I mean, what's the fucking point? Why summon some creepy children only for them to not _do_ anything?"

Regina shakes her head tiredly. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Emma groans. "You're meant to know this magic shit."

"I already told you – this is not my brand of expertise," Regina says, voice slightly too soft for it to be chastising – Emma appreciates it, she's not in the mood for a lecture right now.

She still lets out an irritated little huff. "Where's Gold when you need him?"

The brunette gives a short chuckle at that. "If my company isn't satisfactory to you then please, feel free to hop onto a boat to Neverland and leave all your troubles behind."

"Oh _shush_," Emma waves a hand vaguely in her direction. "I'm just saying that at least he might have a clue what Murderer's playing at."

"Don't call them that," Regina snaps

"What? Why?" Emma frowns. "That's the name they've given themselves."

"Exactly," Regina nods. "They want you to call them that – it's just another way to control you. We've already discussed that they like to be in control."

Emma nods, but doesn't answer, flushing pink as she remembers the conversation they had sitting on the floor outside her room. The conversation she spent in her underwear.

"Fine, I won't call them that," she lies. She needs something to call them, and Murderer's the easiest thing there is.

"It must have just gone wrong," she muses to herself quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "They must have planned for something else and then just did it wrong. That's why we didn't get attacked with –"

"Evil murdering zombies?" Regina asks, smirking.

Emma nods. "Right."

"Maybe you're right," she says, looking thoughtful, "but even if you are – that would imply they'll try again."

"So that the evil murdering zombies are what turns up instead?" the blonde asks, beginning to feel distinctly fuzzy.

"Exactly."

"Knew it," she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed and snuggling into the soft fabric of the couch.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you need to go to sleep," Regina's voice is devastatingly soft. So different to how Emma ever thought it could have sounded.

"'m 'sleep," she mumbles.

"I meant in a bed."

"That 'n inv'tatoin?" She feels Regina's body freeze where the woman has come to stand by the couch.

Regina swallows loudly, and even in her sleepy, slightly-inebriated state Emma could swear she hears her breathing hitch and speed up.

"Ever heard of a thing called a guest bedroom?" she asks, though the biting sarcasm isn't quite as biting as usual.

Emma's not paying much attention though, instead she's focusing on snuggling as deeply into the couch as possible. It's just so _soft_.

She hears Regina sigh and then she's being tugged gently in an upwards direction until she feels completely weightless.

"What you doin'?" she asks blurrily.

"If you think I'm going to drag you up the stairs when a simple levitation spell can do the trick quite nicely, then you're drunker than you appear."

The blonde moans in response and curls in on herself, she likes the feeling of floating. It's comfy.

As is the big white bed that Regina eventually deposits her on. She vaguely notes the woman removing her boots before turning the light off and pulling the door shut behind her but – honestly – she's so tired that it doesn't really register that much. All she cares about is snuggling down into the fluffy white mountain of pillows beneath her.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Emma's awoken early by the buzzing of her phone against her thigh. She tugs it out of her pocket and pulls it to her ear, sitting up and rubbing a hand across her eyes.

"Sheriff Swan?" she answers around a yawn.

"Sheriff?" the voice that meets her sounds pained, scared. "Sheriff, it's Hannah."

She stiffens, a terrible sense of déjà vu flooding through her. "Hannah? What's up?"

"I don't…I don't know," the girl replies shakily. "I just feel…I feel bad, _really_ bad."

"What kind of bad? Hannah?"

There's a panting wheeze on the other end of the phone that has Emma standing and pulling her boots towards her, holding the phone to her ear with one shoulder.

"I don't know. I don't _know_," she says. "I just feel so bad – and my dad's busy at the bakery. I didn't know who to call, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm gonna come get you okay, Hannah?"

There's a rustling sound on the other end of the phone that Emma takes as a nodding head.

"Okay, I'll be there in like ten minutes, okay? Tops."

"Okay," the girl says weakly, and Emma hangs up the phone, shoving it roughly back in her pocket.

She finishes sorting the laces on her boots and then springs off the bed, striding out of the room and down the stairs at a jog. She doesn't see any sign of life within the house and, when she looks at the big clock in the hall, she sees why – it's only quarter to six.

She groans. It's unnatural to be awake at this time.

Nevertheless she pulls open the front door and runs out into the brisk, morning air – grumbling internally that December has to be so goddamn cold.

She'd left the bug outside Granny's, so there's no point going to fetch it. Instead she turns right at the end of Mifflin Street and makes the shortcut to the parade of stores between the docks and the ever encompassing forest – where the Montague Bakery is located.

It takes her just under ten minutes to run there, by which time she's panting and out of breath, wishing that she had gone to fetch the bug after all – however pointless it might have seemed. She jogs past the bakery and to the tiny house next door, knocking loudly.

There's no answer, and when she tries it she finds it's open – unsurprisingly – no one locks their doors in this goddamn town.

"Hannah?" she calls out as she steps into the narrow hallway. "You here?"

There's a plaintive groan that sounds like it's coming from the room to her right, so Emma follows it – stopping short when she enters.

Hannah's curled up in the corner by a table, an old-fashioned cord telephone clasped in her hand. The girl looks like death warmed over – her already pale skin a disturbing light gray-ish color, fair hair plastered to her face by the sweat that appears to have formed a thin sheen across her freckled body.

"Hannah," Emma breathes. She wasn't expecting this – doesn't know how to deal with it. She's not a doctor, she's not even first aid trained.

A thought occurs to her quickly and she whips her cell out again. She might not be first aid trained, but she knows someone who is, someone who luckily works about two minutes away.

The phone rings four times before there's an answer.

"Em?" Lilly asks in her gentle voice "What the hell are you doing up at this time? I didn't think you even knew six am was a thing which existed," she jokes.

Emma doesn't have it in her to laugh – Hannah's curling further in on herself, making these awful whimpering noises.

"Em? What's wrong?"

"Lil, are you at work?" she asks shakily.

"Yeah – just got in. I've got an 8am class and some of the boats need a bit of work beforehand because I've got a ripped sail and a loose boom and why do I get the impression that you really don't care about any of that right now?"

The blonde winces. "Sorry, Lil, it's just I – I need some help. Pretty urgently."

"Where are you?"

"Montague's house," Emma replies.

"Next to the bakery?" Lilly asks

"Yeah."

"There in two," she replies quickly and hangs up. Emma puts her phone away again and then walks carefully towards Hannah.

"Hannah?" she asks gently. "Hannah, what happened. Did you eat something?" It's a stupid question, she knows that. She's had food poisoning – one of the many rewards of dumpster diving – and this is definitely _not_ food poisoning. She doesn't really know what else she can ask though, she needs to know if the girl's come in contact with anything that might be poisonous.

Hannah just shakes her head and groans, burrowing further into her corner as her body is racked with a violent shiver. Emma hears the front door opening and Lilly's voice calling out. "Emma? You there?"

"In here," she replies, and turns to see Lilly appearing in the doorway – flushed from the cold air, a crease between her brows.

"Holy shit," she lets out a low breath, "what's wrong with her?" she asks and Emma shakes her head desperately.

"I was kinda hoping you could tell me – you have a considerable amount more first aid type knowledge than I do."

Lilly nods, and Emma practically sees the teacher hat go on. The redhead moves forward and crouches beside Hannah's shaking body, placing a hand on the girl's knee.

"Hannah? Hey, sweetie, you know me – right?"

The girl nods, "Miss Bana – from sailing."

Lilly smiles and rubs a reassuring circle on Hannah's knee with her thumb "Good. Okay Hannah, can you tell me if you've taken anything – or drunk anything? Anything you shouldn't have?"

Hannah shakes her head, groaning as the movement puts her in a beam of rising sunlight. "I haven't taken anything. I don't do drugs, I don't even drink."

Lilly nods with a calmness that Emma does not feel, moving a hand to feel the girls' forehead. She keeps her hand there for a minute before angling her head back in Emma's direction.

"Call an ambulance," she says, voice too calm for it to be genuine, "_now_."

She obliges, and then steps forward so she can crouch next to Lilly.

Hannah's moved her head so it's resting against the wall behind her, eyes closed.

"What is it?" she asks. "What's wrong with her?"

Lilly looks panicked, the facade gone now the ambulance is on its way. "I don't know. But she's running a fever like I've never seen before – she's lethargic, and looks like she's photosensitive as well. Then there's the _color_ she's turning," she adds, taking in the girl's unhealthy gray pallor. She turns to look back up at Emma.

"I don't know what it is, Em, but I don't think it's good."

Emma swallows heavily, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when she hears the ambulance arriving. The sense of relief she's feeling dissipates, however, when the EMTs barge in, take one look at the scene before them, and turn to each other with looks as panicked as Lilly's.

One of them turns to stare at his colleagues, worry clouding his features, jaw tight.

"Looks like we've got another one, guys."

.

.

.

"Why do we have to stay in here again?" Emma asks, agitation level rising by the minute.

"Because," Lilly replies calmly. "It's possible we were exposed to some kind of virus – and they have to make sure we're not sick so we can't go and infect everyone else. It's basic disease control," she shrugs.

"It's basic _idiocy_," Emma bites back, but Lilly just rolls her eyes.

They sit in silence for another few minutes until Emma breaks it, "Did they have to take my _leather jacket_, though?" she whines.

Lilly just chuckles and Emma grumbles, playing with the hem of the pale blue scrubs they'd been provided to change into after they showered.

"They're not gonna burn it, are they?" she asks.

"Depends on what they find about the infection," Lilly says, spectacularly unhelpful.

"How are you so calm about this?" the blonde snaps, and the redhead comes to sit beside her, putting a gentle arm around her shoulder.

"Because," she shrugs, "not much point getting worked up about it. For all we know – Hannah's just got, like, a _really_ bad case of the flu – we'll be fine, and you'll get your jacket back. There's no point worrying until we're sure what exactly is going on."

Emma opens her mouth to respond, except that that was surprisingly reassuring – and she finds she doesn't have much else to say.

They're in there for another half an hour before the door slides open and Regina, of all people, walks in with a look on her face that says Emma is in serious trouble – evidence, however, suggests that it's not of the deadly virus kind.

"You," the woman snaps, apparently not caring about Lilly's presence, "are a complete, and utter _idiot_."

An awkward silence falls upon the room.

"Good morning, Lilly," she adds finally, giving a tiny nod towards the redhead.

"Hi, Regina," she smiles brightly, "I take it we're all good to go then?"

The brunette nods curtly. "There's a nurse outside with your things."

Lilly smiles and hops off the table they'd been perched on. "Sorry, Em, but I got a class to get to. See ya later." She walks past Regina and shoots Emma a sympathetic smile.

Regina pays no attention to the other woman as she passes by, instead keeping her furious gaze focused on the blonde.

"I take it from your presence that I'm _not_ about to drop dead of the black plague or anything," Emma says carefully.

Regina does nothing but narrow her gaze in a way that makes Emma feel like she may be about to drop dead anyway.

Emma nods her head awkwardly in the silence. "So…" she starts, "I take it you didn't tell Henry."

Regina explodes. "Of course I didn't _fucking_ tell Henry." Holy shit, she's in trouble. She's never heard Regina speak like that. Ever.

"You really think I was going to wake up our son and tell him his mother was being held in quarantine at the hospital for possible exposure to a virus? Or perhaps you thought I'd slip it in over his morning cereal?"

The woman is absolutely seething. Emma doesn't blame her really. On reflection, it probably wasn't the wisest idea to answer a random call to a sick girl and stick around close enough that they were breathing the same air when she had no idea what was wrong with her. Other than she looked deader than most corpses.

"Sorry?" she says, carefully. There's not much else she can say.

Regina scoffs. "You know when you _do_ eventually get yourself killed by your own stupidity, I'm going to bring you back as a ghost so you can explain to that child _exactly_ how big of an idiot you were to _get_ yourself killed."

Emma nods guiltily. "Yeah, I would…say that's fair."

Regina huffs in irritation, but says nothing else.

"So," Emma says after a few minutes, "what's my punishment for this then?"

A wicked smirk breaks across Regina's furious expression, and Emma gulps nervously.

"Oh I would have thought that one would be obvious, dear."

"Oh?" Emma asks, the sound a little strangled.

Regina's smirks widens into a devilish grin. "Your mother."

.

.

.

Emma never would have thought, ever, that she'd see her mother and Regina united on something – but apparently she has special uniting abilities. Special 'let's shout at Emma' kind of uniting abilities.

"What would Regina have told Henry, Emma? Really?" her mother asks, for about the thousandth time in twenty minutes. Regina's standing just behind her, shoulder to shoulder with David – of all people – a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"Okay, look, this is totally unfair," Emma groans, under the combined glare of all three of them. "There's nothing actually wrong with me – I'm fine."

"Emma, that is completely not the point," Snow says. "The point is that you might _not_ have been."

The blonde throws her head back in frustration. "Oh my God! Okay! I get it – I'm irresponsible, and awful, and generally a cause of concern for all your sanities. I apologize, deeply, but can we maybe stop arguing over my hypothetical demise and focus on the subject at hand."

Snow and Regina narrow their eyes almost simultaneously in a move that Emma can only describe as profoundly creepy, but David starts to nod his head.

"She has a point – we do have more important things to discuss."

Snow splutters, turning on him, "More import…more _important_ than your daughter's welfare?"

"Considering that her welfare is perfectly _well_, yes, more important."

Emma feels a sudden, unexpected rush of affection towards her father and gives him a small, grateful smile.

Snow shakes her head angrily and sighs. "Fine – but this conversation is not over. You need to take better care of yourself, Emma." The blonde gives her mother a tiny reassuring nod and the woman finally turns for the door.

"I have to go to school but just…David, keep an eye on her will you?"

He nods in the affirmative to his wife and the rush of affection she was feeling dissipates with a vengeance.

"Great, now does someone want to tell me _how_ we know I'm not dying?" she asks, looking from David to Regina.

Both their faces darken slightly and they share a look that makes her distinctly uncomfortable. Just the idea of the two of them sharing looks anything other than antagonistic in nature makes her uncomfortable, in fact.

"Okay, what was that about?" she asks. "What's going on?"

"Emma," Regina says carefully, "as you already know – Hannah wasn't the only person admitted to the hospital with similar symptoms today."

She raises her eyebrows at her, encouraging her to go on.

"In fact, she wasn't the only person this week – Whale said they've been coming in since the weekend."

"And?"

"And," David picks up from the brunette, "something became clear. It was Thomas who saw it, actually, and when we checked, it all lined up."

"Checked _what?"_ Emma asks agitatedly, not liking the way they're dancing around the point.

"Everyone displaying symptoms…" Regina says, and Emma wonders idly if these two practiced this little dance. "Emma, they're the same people who reported seeing the children, or, more accurately – they're people who've said they _touched_ the children."

Emma's mouth falls open in shock. "Shit," she breathes.

"Yeah," David agrees, rubbing his jaw in a way she's begun to notice he does when he's anxious. Regina lowers herself to sit in the chair opposite Emma, no longer towering over her.

"I think it's possible… we may have had some evil murdering zombies after all," she says, almost apologetically.

Emma nods absently.

Yeah. Well. _Shit_.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"How's Hannah?" Regina asks as she answers the phone, and Emma stares at the unmoving form of the girl on the bed in front of her.

"Worse," she says, not caring that her voice sounds choked and hoarse," she just keeps getting worse."

Regina makes a little hum of sympathy, and there's a bang from the other end that sounds a bit like a door.

"What you doing?" Emma asks absently, eyes fixed on Hannah's face.

"Cooking," Regina replies. "I'm having Grace to stay as well – Jefferson said you needed his help with something over there."

"Oh, yeah, right. Forgot about Grace," Emma says, voice still pretty emotionless.

Regina sighs, and Emma imagines she's probably rolling her eyes, but says nothing.

"I need everyone out searching," she says, even though the other woman didn't ask. "We think we've got pretty much everyone, but we want to keep this as quiet as possible – we can't risk anyone stumbling on one of them."

There's a pause, then Regina's voice asks, confused, "Why?"

The blonde lets her head drop into her spare hand "Look, I'm sorry I know you have the kids coming over – but I need you to get down here."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Do you think your mother would mind –"

"I'll call her," Emma says. "I'm sure she won't."

"Okay, I'll be right there," she says quietly.

"Thank you," Emma replies before hanging up, though it's quiet enough to be barely audible. Then she presses speed dial three and waits as her mother's phone rings.

"Emma, honey, I'm in class right now."

"I know," she apologizes. "I know, I'm sorry it's just – can you take Henry and Grace home with you after school? I need Regina."

"You what?"

"…s help. I need Regina's help," she corrects herself quickly. "I don't know how long it'll take – but she might be able to swing by and pick them up later on. That okay?"

Her mother hums an agreement. "Leave it to me."

The blonde sighs in relief. This is the side of having a mother that she likes – the helping, having her back side. She only wishes it would emerge more frequently.

"Thanks," she says, and hangs up before she can ask any questions. That's a side she's not sure she'll ever get used to.

She puts her phone away and then turns her attention back to the teenage girl lying in the hospital bed.

.

.

.

"Hey Emma what is i…oh my _god_," Regina interrupts herself as her brown gaze falls on Hannah's still form.

"See why I needed you?" Emma asks – and then winces internally. She's got to stop phrasing it like that. Is there a different way to phrase it? Maybe she should have put the word 'help' in there, that would have made it less, well, just _less_.

Regina coughs awkwardly but walks towards the bed. "I feel like you've been leaving out valuable information from conversations," she deadpans, eyes roaming across Hannah's body. "Tell me, were you planning on mentioning this at any point?"

Emma doesn't meet Regina's gaze as it shifts to her. "I called you, didn't I?"

"Emma, what's going _on_ here?" the brunette asks, ignoring her reply.

She sighs angrily. "I don't know, that's why I called you."

"Have you _seen_ her?" Regina looks between Emma and Hannah again, a look of panic on her face as she takes in the girl's gray skin and the way it's clinging to her bones.

"I'm looking right at her aren't I?"

"Then are you blind?"

"What?" She frowns.

"Sorry but they're the only explanations I can think of for the fact that you waited this long to call me," Regina bites back, eyes returning immediately to Hannah when she's finished speaking.

"I've been kind of busy," Emma grits out angrily. "Hannah's not the only person in this state – and almost all of them have family. Between organizing the search for any other victims and covering up what's going on maybe you can understand why I haven't been able to stop for a _chat_."

Regina raises an eyebrow at her, it's her 'You think you can speak to me like that and live?' eyebrow, but Emma's not in the mood to be intimidated.

"Oh, get your fucking eyebrow down and just examine her, will you – I need to know what's happening to her."

Regina stares daggers at her but moves to stand at Hannah's side. "If you needed her examined so urgently," she says, voice smooth and dangerous, "then maybe you should have called me _earlier_."

Emma clenches her jaw. "This is a recent development, until now Doctor Whale and his team have been monitoring them and running tests."

"Really?" Regina scoffs. "You mean it's taken you this long to realize they're not suffering from a touch of the flu?" she asks, sarcasm biting in her tone.

"For God's sakes Regina, of course we knew whatever it was wasn't _normal_. That didn't mean there was nothing the actual doctors could do about it! They had symptoms which were treatable so we treated them."

Regina frowns, a small amount of the anger in her eyes dropping out. "Emma, you're speaking in the past tense," she observes.

Emma groans, and buries her face in her hands.

"Oh," she hears Regina let out a breath, before taking a seat on the other side of the bed. "So that's why you called me then."

Emma looks up from her hands, aware that she probably looks a little desperate – but she doesn't care. "We're out of options," she murmurs, voice pained. "Their bodies are shutting down faster than the doctors can do anything about it now. They're _dying_, Regina – and we can't stop it."

Regina nods solemnly. "I'll see if there's anything I can do."

Emma simply nods herself in response, eyes drifting back to Hannah's limp form. "Thank you."

.

.

.

"There's nothing you can do, is there?" Emma asks before Regina can speak. She'd heard the woman coming up behind her, heard the tentative movement in her step.

"No," she says bluntly. "No. There's nothing I can do either."

Emma bobs her head in some sort of imitation of a nod. "Right," she coughs awkwardly. "Well then," she turns but avoids Regina's gaze.

"Emma, I'm sorry."

"No, no, I know. It's fine. I didn't have my hopes up anyway," she says quickly, before brushing past Regina.

"Emma…"

"Henry and Grace are at Mary Margaret's, you should probably pick them up," the blonde replies, without looking at her, as she steps back into Hannah's room, shutting the door behind her.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Her hands are bleeding when she finally knocks on Regina's door, sometime well past midnight. To her surprise it swings upon almost immediately. There's concern all over Regina's face, concern which only deepens when she sees her hands.

"Emma what did you do?" she breathes, pulling the blonde inside and locking the door behind her.

"I lost my temper," she admits, embarrassed.

"What _at?"_

"The Bug."

"Thank heaven for small mercies," Regina mutters under her breath.

"Hey!" Emma replies. "What has everyone got against the Bug?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of at least it wasn't a _person_ who bloodied your fist…but now you mention it, that car _is_ disgraceful."

Emma says nothing, which is probably a mistake since Regina never misses anything.

"It _wasn't_ a person, was it?" she asks, eyes narrowing. "Emma, tell me you, the _Sheriff_, did not beat a person to the point where your hands bled."

"What? No! It was the Bug," she says quickly.

"Then why did you pause?" the brunette asks suspiciously as she leads Emma towards the kitchen.

"I didn't hit anyone," she says shrugging, Regina's clever enough to work out the end of that sentence.

The brunette stops walking, turning back to look at her, expression unreadable. "Someone hit you?"

Emma shrugs. "Probably deserved it. Gonna have a bitch of a black eye in the morning though."

Regina's nostrils flare but she schools herself quickly – not so quickly that Emma didn't see the movement though. "Who hit you?" she asks, voice steady and emotionless.

"It doesn't matter," Emma replies, shaking her head. "You got any ice?" she adds, waving her hands in front of Regina's face.

The other woman rolls her eyes but turns back around and continues walking into the kitchen.

"Sit," she instructs without turning around as she heads for a cupboard in the corner, pulling things out off of various shelves. Emma watches her warily.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting things."

"What things?"

"First aid things," she sighs, coming back to the table and sitting down. "Give me your hands."

"I just need some ice."

"You punched the Bug," Regina replies flatly.

"Well, yeah."

"Where did you punch the Bug?" she asks carefully.

"Erm, through the window," the blonde answers sheepishly and Regina's eyes fall close for a moment, head giving the tiniest shake.

"Exactly. Hands – now."

Emma slides them across the table wordlessly.

Regina sets about cleaning the blood off just as silently, picking up a pair of tweezers and pulling out shards of glass one by one. Emma watches her work, appreciating the silence. She's not really ready to talk about it yet.

They sit quietly for a long time, the only sounds those of the glass shards tinkling as Regina places them on a small plate. Once she's finished pulling the glass out and cleaning Emma's knuckles up, she wraps them carefully in gauze, and then gets up to put everything away. The blonde watches her as she slots everything back in its place, pouring the shards of glass into the trash and then finally coming to sit down again. They stay sitting silently. Regina doesn't push.

Finally though, the blonde takes a deep breath.

"Hannah's dead," she murmurs. "She died."

Saying it helps a little, but not enough to stop the twisting ball of guilt in her stomach.

"She…" Emma squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. "She just sorta… gave out. All at once. One minute she was there – barely – but hanging on, you know? Then the next minute everything just… she just _stopped_."

She opens her eyes to meet Regina's gaze, pretending not to notice the way her eyes feel damp.

"And then she sorta…well, I mean, she… she almost looked shriveled?" she says it like a question, not sure if it's the best descriptor. It wasn't that she'd looked like a mummy, more like someone who'd been starving themselves for, well, _years_. The girl's skin had been a wholly unnatural gray color, her skin so tight it looked like it had been stretched around her skeleton alone. There'd been no light left in her, no hint of energy or feeling. The only sign she'd been alive had been the shaky rise and fall of her chest. Until that had finally stopped too.

"The person who hit you…" Regina starts gently.

"Her dad," Emma nods, knowing that's where she was going. "Told you I deserved it."

"You didn't deserve it," the brunette says firmly. "This wasn't your fault."

Emma turns to her, green eyes stricken. "Then whose fault was it? I'm the Sheriff, I'm meant to _protect_ people."

"You didn't know this would happen," Regina sounds so calm.

"But I did though, didn't I? I _said so_. I said there was something about those kids and I didn't like that they didn't do anything. I _knew_ there had to be more to it and I did nothing," she rubs angrily at the wetness in her eyes, determined not to let tears escape.

"Emma, you couldn't have prevented this."

"Yes," she says, anger seeping into her voice. "Yes, I could. If Obie hadn't been killed in the first place then –"

"Someone else would have been," Regina finishes. "Whoever did this wouldn't have been stopped by you taking a minute to have a chat with a teenage boy. This is bigger than you, bigger than either of us. I'd bet my life that whoever's behind this isn't nearly done yet, Emma."

The blonde just looks at her sadly, green eyes meeting brown.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Regina laughs. "I'm beating peasants in my down time to make up for this excess of nicety."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You're lucky I know you're joking."

"I'm not," Regina says completely straight-faced, her only give away the slight twinkle in her dark eyes.

The blonde fights the tiny grin that pulls at her mouth. "You realize it's stuff like that that makes people still think you're gonna murder them in their beds."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Regina!"

"Sorry," she shrugs, smirking slightly in a way that makes Emma certain she's not, even a little. They descend back into silence, and Emma feels the moment of amusement leaving her.

It doesn't matter whether it's her fault or not in the end. What matters is that everything that's happened, it's happened on her watch.

Apparently Regina can sense she's slipping back again and, hesitantly, reaches out a hand and places it over the blonde's.

Emma looks up to meet her gaze, breath hitching in her throat at the touch.

"How many did you lose today?" she asks.

"Twenty six," she chokes out, grateful for the chance to let it out. "Hannah was the latest."

"How many people have showed up with symptoms so far?"

"Thirty three."

"And how long do you think they'll –"

"Hours," she cuts her off, shaking her head, "Whale says at this rate he can't see the rest of them making it to tomorrow night."

"It's not your fault, Emma," Regina says again. She doesn't even know how the other woman knows that it's all she needs to hear right now.

Because it is. It's too late to hope that any of them will make it. Too late to wish Obadiah hadn't been murdered – sacrificed – whatever. Too late to wish she'd been able to track the sender of those invitations and cut this whole thing off at the source. It's too late to wish any of the things that have happened hadn't happened, because they have. So now all she needs is to know that it's not her fault, that she _couldn't_ have prevented it – even if she'd wanted to. She needs the reassurance of knowing that she hasn't failed, not completely at least.

"You're doing your best, everyone knows that."

Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe it's selfish, but she just wants to sit here and soak in Regina's gentle reassurances. She doesn't want to go back out and face the world in the morning. She doesn't want to face having to tell everybody what's going on, dealing with another panic.

"You should get some sleep – you can use the guest room," Regina brushes a thumb across the back of her hand, and Emma opens her eyes again.

She looks at Regina for a long moment. There's a sudden desire within the blonde to tell her. To tell Regina how much she likes that they're like this, how much she appreciates that they're friends now. How her support somehow, maybe crazily, means the world to her. How she doesn't see the Evil Queen that so many people still seem to be afraid of, how she never _honestly_ has. The woman can be a complete bitch, sure, but she doesn't think she's ever seen _evil_ in her – no matter what her parents say. She wants to tell Regina how these days when she's stressed all it takes is looking into her beautiful brown eyes and a part of her begins to relax. That's probably weird though, and definitely inappropriate – no matter how true it might all be.

So instead she just mutters, "Good idea, thanks," and rises from the table, dragging her hand away from the warmth of Regina's.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

For once her mother is happy to step up and take some responsibility off of her shoulders, and apparently when it's a 'delicate situation' she doesn't mind taking over speech duties. The discussion of what people should actually be _told_, though, is not nearly as easy as shifting the responsibility of deliverance.

Snow wants to tell everyone the truth, the absolute truth and nothing but the truth. Regina, whose presence at the discussion Snow questions every two minutes or so, wants to lie outright. Emma's left standing somewhere awkwardly in the middle, thinking that maybe a fudging of the truth is the best way to go. David – who Emma decides really can't be as stupid as Regina likes to joke if his decision is anything to go by – stays well out of it.

Eventually, with Ruby called in as a tie-breaker, they decide to tell everyone that the people died because they contracted something from the children, leaving out any and all connections between the children and Obadiah's murder.

The threat of something else happening seems imminent, but if they're to stop it they can't have everyone running around in flat out panic.

Emma stands nervously behind her mother as she addresses the townsfolk, shrinking as far into her woolen scarf as she possibly can. They all seem to swallow the lie remarkably well though, and Emma has a sneaking suspicion it's due to the self-preservation instincts that kick in and inform them that at least they themselves are not in danger.

After that, things seem to slip back into an almost-normal. The initiated – her deputies, her parents, and Regina – spend the days looking for any lead as to who the culprit is, to how and when they might strike next. Outside of their circle, though, they pretend like everything is fine. And slowly, at least the people not involved, seem to forget about the whole thing. Emma still feels like the nuns are being un-characteristically icy around her – as are some of the older kids from the orphanage. The family of the people who died grieve, but leave her out of their grief. If they feel any rage, they don't direct it at her.

December continues to pass quietly. Around them excitement for Christmas builds, blotting out even the sadness of all the bereaved. Emma's sure this isn't over, sure that Murderer, whoever they are, is going to strike again – but with absolutely no movement either from them or the case – and the Christmas spirit flourishing around them, it gets increasingly difficult not to relax a little.

.

.

.

"Tell me we're not actually doing this," Regina says tightly as Emma moves around her to put the last knife out on the table. "Tell me that this is just some terrible nightmare I'm having and I'm going to wake up soon?"

Emma smirks, reaching behind where the other woman is standing stock still and grabbing a pile of forks. "You know I really wish I could. But I can't. You're the one who suggested it anyway."

Regina's mouth falls open at the accusation. "Suggest it? I did not _suggest_ it, I merely relayed the request."

The blonde shrugs. "Kinda the same thing though, isn't it?"

Regina's eyes narrow. "No. No it really isn't."

Emma laughs, shaking her head. "If you say so – hand me the spoons."

The brunette grabs stiffly at the bundle of spoons on the dresser behind her and slams them into Emma's hand with a lot more force than necessary. "I will throttle you in your sleep."

She rolls her eyes, taking the spoons and starting to place them out. "You realize I'm dreading this just as much as you are, right?"

"Then why are we _doing_ it?" Regina asks, and Emma takes great satisfaction that there's something almost resembling pleading in her eyes.

"You know why," Emma replies, and they both look up simultaneously as there's a thump from upstairs.

"Henry," they agree.

The blonde finishes with the spoons and makes her way back towards the kitchen. "Look," she says before she disappears, "just be thankful we're not dating or anything – that would make it like ten times worse."

Regina freezes up, staring at her, and she curses internally.

_Shit. Why did I say that? That was really weird_.

Emma licks her lips nervously, "I just… I just meant that, you know, that would make it almost like a meet the parents type thing and that would be… I didn't mean that dating you would be ten times worse – not that I think that dating you would be good!" she chokes out, eyes widening. "I mean, no I mean, I'm sure you're lovely to date, I just meant… I mean… _I _don't wanna date you… obviously. I was just saying that… you know… if we were… dating, I mean…then, erm, that would… be awkward?"

Regina just continues to stare at her for a long moment.

"Emma?"

"Yes?" she asks, a little desperately.

"Go and get the bread."

"Right."

.

.

.

Dinner is pretty painfully awkward anyway. Between the fact that Regina hasn't quite been looking her in the eye since her jabbered whatever-that-was, and the fact that the brunette can hardly let a phrase leave either of Emma's parents' mouths without giving a snarky response, she's left feeling like she wants to bang her head against the table every few minutes or so.

"So, er, Henry – did you tell Emma what you learnt in class today?" Snow asks, desperately trying to fill the awkward silence that's descended upon them.

"Oh, yeah!" he replies, blissfully unaware of the tension between the adults at the table – or if he is, choosing to ignore it. "It was so cool, we learnt how to do all these different bird calls."

"A skill which will no doubt be _invaluable_ later in life," Regina mutters into her spoonful of cheesecake. Snow puts her spoon down a little more aggressively than necessary on her plate, causing it to clatter loudly.

"Actually bird calls can be a very useful survival technique," she says defensively.

"Oh, of course, forgive me dear – I forgot you liked to spend your time conversing with aves," she replies bitingly.

Snow, David, and Henry all frown in confusion.

"Birds," Emma supplies shaking her head and giving a tiny sigh. She doesn't miss the shocked glances that, however briefly, are most definitely thrown in her direction.

Snow turns her attention back to Regina, "I do not spend my time conversing with birds!"

"Your curriculum would beg otherwise, dear."

"It's not my fault if some of the things I teach aren't exactly regular, my training wasn't exactly regular either."

"Training?" Regina scoffs "And where did you get that?"

"Cursed Teachers R Us," Snow snaps back, eyes hard.

"Really, dear? I heard Enchanted Educators was so much better," Regina says with a wicked little smirk. Snow flushes red in anger, apparently angry that her comeback didn't fluster the other woman as she might have hoped.

"This cheesecake's great, Regina, where did you get it?" Emma says, trying to divert the conversation before either woman starts trying to rip the other's head off.

Regina turns as if to answer and then something flashes in her eyes and she shuts her mouth quickly. Henry frowns at his mother's sudden silence.

"We got it at the Montague Bakery, didn't we mom?" he answers and Emma finds her jaw clenching around her spoon.

Regina's eyes have softened and she's watching Emma carefully, as if she's a bomb that might go off. She finishes her mouthful and swallows slowly. "Oh," she breathes "well, it's… it's really good."

Silence falls over everyone for a minute, a minute in which Emma feels Regina's eyes burning into the side of her face, and she just keeps her eyes fixed pointedly on the remainder of the cheesecake – pushing it around her plate with her spoon.

By the time the minute's up Henry's looking between them, eager to know what it is he's missing. When it appears no one's going to ante-up any information, though, he sighs and turns with renewed excitement to Regina.

"Hey, mom?"

"Yes, Henry?" she asks quietly.

"Did I tell you Grams is buying me a sword for Christmas?"

.

.

.

"So, are you just a bird fan or do you make a habit of knowing scientific names for things?"

"Really?" Emma asks, unamused. "That's really all you have to say?"

Regina keeps her eyes fixed on her task of loading plates into the dishwasher. "What would you like me to say, dear?"

Emma folds her arms across her chest leaning one hip against the counter. "Oh I don't know – sorry might be a good start."

The brunette straightens up and turns, finally meeting her gaze. "I don't see how that's really necessary."

"Don't see that –" Emma splutters. "Regina, you turned my dad into a squirrel!"

"Temporarily."

"A _squirrel!"_ Emma shouts but Regina just rolls her eyes, turning back to the dishwasher.

"I felt it would be an interesting learning experience for him," she shrugs as she bends to continue stacking plates.

"An interesting…" Emma gapes at her. "How could that possibly serve as an _interesting learning experience_?"

Regina shrugs, but doesn't turn back. "He learnt to not be an irresponsible grandparent to Henry, or else he'll be turned into a furry woodland creature."

Emma opens her mouth and closes it again, staring at Regina's back as she grasps for something to say.

"That's…"

"Wise?" the brunette supplies, standing again and turning back to her with a smirk on her face.

"I was thinking kinda the opposite actually," Emma says, readjusting her arms. "What d'you think will happen if people hear you're going around turning people into animals?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Emma. It was a perfectly harmless enchantment, with a fix so easy even you could do it."

Emma stiffens then. They don't talk about her magic, not really. Her parents had encouraged her to explore it, with the nuns' guidance, so that she might control it – so that she might use it for good. She doesn't feel the same way though. Magic can be useful, yes, without it they never would have succeeded in Neverland – but Neverland was Neverland. It was special circumstances. She used magic because she had to when, in all truth, it scares her to death. She knows how badly it can corrupt, the prices it comes with – Regina's warned her as much. She knows she's not un-corruptible. The way she's sees it, her life is fine just now without her using magic. There's little point in changing that.

Regina looks at her carefully, expression sobering. "Or maybe not," she adds quietly and Emma gives her a tiny smile in response.

The brunette straightens, pushing the dishwasher closed and pressing buttons until the gentle hum of the cycle starting fills the otherwise silent kitchen.

"So," she asks, leaning a hip against the counter in a mirror of Emma's own positioning, "aves?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "You know, contrary to popular belief, I'm not _actually_ an idiot, Regina."

"Debatable," she shoots back so fast that the blonde wonders if she doesn't have some kind of Emma insulting reflex. "Though," the other woman adds quietly, and Emma lets her lips quirk upwards

"Go on."

Regina shifts, refusing to meet Emma's gaze, "Recent evidence might suggest… that you're not _quite_ as stupid as your ridiculous father."

Emma's smile widens into a shit-eating grin and Regina lets out a little huff of irritation "Oh don't get cocky, that's hardly a compliment – we all know your father is a complete imbecile."

The blonde shrugs. "Still a compliment."

Regina shakes her head and turns to reach into a cupboard behind her, pulling a bottle of wine out.

"Drink?" she asks, sounding a little grudging "And you can tell me all about how you managed to feign some sense of intelligence for five minutes."

Emma's grin doesn't falter "Well, well we are just full of compliments today aren't we, Regina?"

The brunette scoffs, pulling down two glasses and pouring dark red liquid into both.

"As I said," she says, handing a glass to Emma "don't get cocky."  
"Never," Emma grins, taking a sip and going to sit at the table with the other woman.

Regina takes a long breath and sighs "Go on then – tell me all about your secret genius."

Emma laughs nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was different spilling it out quickly to Thomas – he probably hadn't even been paying that much attention – and she hadn't really gone into that much detail. Now though – Regina's really asking, really wants to know – and she's never really talked that much about it before.

"I was homeless," she says quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. Quick, done, now it's out there.

Regina's face falls slightly "What?"

Emma shifts in her seat, staring down into her wine glass "You know I was in the system for most of my childhood, right?"

The other woman nods.

"Well…there was a short period, when I was fifteen, when I got real sick of it. So I ran away," she shrugs "One day after school I just, I picked up my backpack and I started walking and it took me like twenty minutes to realize that I wasn't walking home."

"Where did you go?" Regina asks.

"Some town about twenty miles away," she says, looking up briefly to see Regina's understandably confused frown.

"I knew there'd be people looking for me but I didn't…I found that I really _didn't_ want to be found. So I got on a bus to the furthest place I could get it to before anyone knew I was gone, but when I got there I realized it would be fairly easy to trace me. So I took another bus to another town, then I walked for a bit – stopped off to buy a hotdog because I was pretty damn hungry by that stage – walked until I reached another town that I figured it'd be hard to trace me to. Then I went and found the public library there."

"The library?" Emma can't quite define Regina's expression, but there's something encouraging in her brown eyes, so she continues.

"Well I needed to go someplace where I wouldn't have to pay to be there – so not like a coffee shop or anything. Libraries are free, and there's plenty of places to hide in them. So I went and holed up in the young adult literature section and tried to look inconspicuous.

"I'd slept whilst on the buses but I knew that I'd have to spend the night on the street so I'd need to keep warm – and I remembered this thing from biology about insulation so I…" she trails off, looking up guiltily, "I checked out a few books and when I got outside I…ripped them up."

"Typical, destroying quality literature," Regina jokes though the biting note in her voice is not as strong as it usually is.

"Regina I'm pretty sure most of them were tween romance novels," Emma says defensively.

"I still fail to see how this explains the bird thing."

"I'm getting there," Emma tells her, rolling her eyes, "anyway…I used the pages to line my jacket and… well I mean the night was cold and pretty much sucked all round, but it probably sucked less because I was a bit more insulated. I had nowhere to go the next day so I went back to the library and I actually ended up getting pretty caught up reading. I read the whole day, and when they closed I went and used some of the last of the money I had to buy a hot drink and some food. Then I went back the next day and read more.

"The nights totally sucked, and I didn't have much to eat but that week…I still kinda had fun. Reading was cool. I realized that I wouldn't be able to go back once the books were due though, so I decided I needed to leave for a different town. I used the last of my money to get one more bus to a much bigger town where I knew there'd be a food truck and stuff. Then I found the library and settled in."

"You spent the days reading?" Regina asks, and Emma nods.

"Couple of days a week I'd change it up and go to museum, learn history and science and stuff…and then if there were things I wanted to know more about I could go read about them at the library."

"What did you do for food?" the brunette asks, sounding a little amazed.

Emma shrugs. "There were plenty of food trucks and stuff – it was a big town. Dumpster diving's not always so bad – not if you choose the right spots…and I mean I begged a bit as well."

"You begged?" Regina sounds appalled.

"Yeah – one day this guy in a suit chucked me a twenty by accident but he couldn't exactly take it back so I treated myself and some of my friends to donuts," she grins at the memory, the way they'd all laughed and tried to cover each other in powdered sugar.

"On the _street?_" Regina continues, staring at her.

Emma chuckles. "Yes, Regina, that is where people tend to beg."

"But…you could have…you had a foster family why would you –"

"Why would I want to spend nights on the street and rely on strangers for food when there was a warm bed and a hot meal waiting for me somewhere?" she asks and Regina shuts her mouth in surprise, but watches her expectantly for an answer.

"I asked myself that a lot," she says quietly, "why didn't I go back, why didn't I go find a policeman – because there had to be missing person's report on me by then."

"Well?" Regina asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I was free," she admits, voice barely above a whisper. "The foster home I ran away from – they had three kids of their own, four foster kids including me. Breakfast, dinner, homework, bath time, chores – they were regimented. There were seven kids in that house and we were disciplined like soldiers. It wasn't even a big house – there was no privacy. When you're a fifteen year old girl that's…I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that that's a totally shit situation to be in."

Regina just nods, a tiny understanding smile on her face.

"And when I was away…yeah I spent nights on the streets or in shelters but," she sighs contendedly at the memory, "I spent my days on adventures, ya know? I could go to the library, read a book, and immediately I'd be in some distant land away from the life I was living."

"Like a fairy tale land?" Regina asks, raising an eyebrow at her and Emma gives a little self-deprecating laugh.

"Sometimes," she admits, "or sometimes I'd be fighting pirates on the high seas, or orcs in Middle Earth. Or even I'd just sit and read a science textbook and imagine that one day maybe I'd be some famous genius who'd invent the cure for cancer. It was probably stupid, and irresponsible, but at the time that didn't matter to me. What mattered was that I was –"

"Free," Regina breathes, examining her with this strange look of awe.

"Well, yeah."

"So I guess you actually are pretty knowledgeable then?" she asks.

"I did try to tell you," Emma grins but Regina shakes her head in apparent amazement. "Ever since that I've always liked reading. I don't often have time anymore – even before I came to Storybrooke I was normally too busy – but I never forgot anything that I read… and that helped I guess."

"What happened?" Regina asks then and Emma frowns.

"After all that," she clarifies, "I'm assuming you didn't spend the rest of your life in a public library," she smirks.

"I got found," Emma takes a sip of her wine and leans back in her chair, "about 8 months after I first ran away I ran into the wrong cop – apparently he'd transferred from a town closer to mine and he recognized me from the posters. The family I'd left didn't want me in case I ran again so I went back into care until they found someone else for me."

"You didn't run away again?"

She shakes her head. "Not like that. My money got carefully controlled so I'd never be able to get far enough. I did skip though…used to go to the library or the museum during health class."

Regina's mouth twists up into a smirk. "And that would explain Henry then."

Emma laughs. "Hey I already knew everything they were gonna teach me anyway."

"Apparently not, considering you got knocked up at eighteen."

"Seventeen," Emma corrects automatically, "I was seventeen."

"That's really not something to be proud of," Regina says, amusement clear in her tone

"I was just saying," she replies, taking another sip of wine, "getting your facts straight and everything."

"Emma, believe me, I am really not concerned with the exact age you got yourself accidentally impregnated."

Emma rolls her eyes but says nothing, and they sit in silence for a while.

"So," Regina says finally, "you're really not stupid then."

"Did you really think I was?" Emma asks, looking over at the other woman, whose eyes are fixed on her own wine glass.

"I was certainly curious as to the effects of inter-dimensional tree travel on the infant brain, yes."

"_Regina_."

"No," she replies immediately, and when she looks up her brown eyes are serious, honest, "I've never thought you were stupid, Emma. I didn't realize you were quite so…educated, but I've never thought you were stupid."

Emma smiles. It feels good, having told someone, having told _Regina_. It feels good to know that someone else knows she's at least tried – even if her upbringing wasn't one that leant itself to brilliance.

"Does this mean you're gonna stop calling me an idiot, then?" she asks.

"That depends," Regina replies, mouth curling back into a smirk.

"On what?"

"On how much of an idiot you act."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

The rest of December passes quickly, and before she knows it it's already Christmas. Emma's Christmas Eve is quiet, filled with egg nog and cheesy Christmas movies. She and Regina had organized it so Regina would have Christmas with Henry on Christmas Eve, and then Emma would take Henry to her parents for Christmas Day. She'd been a bit worried about the logistics to start with – considering this was their first Christmas officially, amicably co-parenting the kid – but Regina had been surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. As long as she got a Christmas Day with Henry for all their traditional Christmas things then she was happy. Emma had suggested jokingly that they should alternate – that next year she'd have Christmas Eve and Regina could have Christmas Day – then she'd looked into the other woman's eyes and it suddenly hit her that this was her life now. Amicably working out how to share holidays between them, each year, every year for the rest of their lives. Like some kind of divorced couple. It was a bit ridiculous really – a bit _sad_.

In that moment Emma had almost wondered what it would take for them get to spend holidays together, the three of them. Maybe it would be weird but, hell, it surely wouldn't seem so damned lonely.

She spends the evening finishing wrapping presents in front of Elf, laughing at the idea that without the curse and all the fake memories it implanted, the citizens of Storybrooke would have reacted to the real world with somewhat of the same enthusiasm as Buddy. By the time the evening is over and she's finished a whole carton of eggnog she can't un-see mental images of her parents excitedly downing platefuls of spaghetti covered in maple syrup.

She turns in early with a happy smile on her face, part thanks to rum and part thanks, honestly, to the idea of Regina in an elf costume.  
.

.

.  
Emma pulls up outside Regina's house just before ten. There's a tiny covering of snow on the ground, the flakes glistening as they catch the slowly-rising winter sun. It's quiet, but it's that magical excited silence one always feels on Christmas morning, and Emma finds herself standing on the doorstep drinking it in, blinking as light begins to reflect off the bright snow.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS EMMA!"

Emma jumps, spinning on her heel and blinking in startled, sleepy surprise as the door to 108 Mifflin Street is flung open and a still pajama clad Henry bounces up at her.

"Wow, erm, yeah Merry Christmas, Henry," she replies.

"Come on you've gotta see all the stuff that mom got me it's great!" he grabs her by the sleeve and pulls her inside, waiting only a second for her to shut the door before dragging her excitedly into the living room. Emma can't help but grin at the kid's excitement – she's never gotten to see him like this, after all. Last Christmas she was in Fairytale Land – and the one before she and Regina were not exactly on speaking terms.

When they get into the living room he drops her sleeve and bounces over to the ornately decorated tree in the corner, dressing gown flapping behind him. He looks like an excited little puppy – or perhaps a baby rabbit, given the bouncing – not a kid on the cusp of puberty, and she's suddenly deeply grateful that even if it's just this year, even if next year he's a moody teenager who doesn't give a fuck about Santa, at least she's got to see him like this. Like an excited little bunny bouncing around the tree and gathering things up in his arms – clearly intent on showing her everything.

"Pretty special, isn't it?"

Emma turns to see Regina leaning against the doorframe, a small smile on her face, and she gives a tiny awed laugh in response, shaking her head in amazement as she turns back to their son. The other woman walks forward and takes a seat beside her, watching with an expression filled with absolute adoration as Henry continues to search throughpiles of torn wrapping paper.

"You could have warned me," Emma says in mock scolding.

Regina turns to her and smirks, "And rob you of the surprise? Even I'm not that evil."

Emma turns to look at Henry and then back to Regina. "He's like a freaking puppy."

The brunette chuckles, "I always saw it more as rabbit, what with all the bouncing he does," Emma opens her mouth in shock at the shared thought but says nothing.

"I can't believe you never told me about this," she breathes instead, shaking her head again.

"Aren't you glad I didn't, though?"

"So glad," Emma laughs as Henry finally seems to stabilize the giant pile in his arms and comes scampering over.

"Okay so," he starts off, nudging a box at the top of the pile with his chin, "this one here's a Luke Skywalker figurine, special edition from like the 80s, mint in package and everything seriously oh my god Grace is gonna be so jealous! Anyway and this one's Han Solo, they go together like a matching set – look they've got lightsabers that light up and everything. Not that you're gonna see them light up because I mean they're mint in package obviously but the point is that they _do_ light up and it's the principal that counts really and..."

Emma's eyes widen in awe as he rambles on about action figures and Blu-Rays and cast commentaries, looking up to meet Regina's amused gaze.

'Coffee?' the brunette mouths at her, and Emma looks from her to Henry – who has descended into an in depth explanation of the evolution of the Empire and the importance of Jedi training – and back again. Then she nods vigorously.

.

.

.  
"I spawned a nerd," Emma says, feeling a little wiped after being told in detail about the intricacies of how the Sith rose to power.

"A very cute nerd though," Regina replies.

"How am I ever going to face the neighbors?" Emma jokes and Regina shakes her head in something she can only conclude is fondness.

"Did you have a good day yesterday?" the blonde asks, turning serious.

"It was strange," Regina says pensively, eyes on her coffee mug, "but yes, it was good thank you."

"Good," Emma nods awkwardly, eyes on her own mug, "that's good."

There's a slightly ominous crashing sound upstairs and both of them half-rise from their seats, before Henry's voice comes shouting down to them.

"It's fine! I'm fine! Just got attacked by the Millennium Falcon we're all good!"

"You bought him a _falcon_?" Emma asks Regina incredulously. The woman turned her father into a squirrel for getting him a sword – but a bird of prey is alright?

"The Millennium Falcon is a spaceship, Emma," the brunette says, unimpressed.

"Oh, yeah, course it is," she says and turns back to her coffee.

"Wait you got him a _spaceship_?"

"It's a model, Emma," Regina deadpans.

"Right."

"Spaceships don't exist."

"Hey, I spent twenty eight years thinking fairy tales didn't exist but turns out I'm actually Snow White's daughter and my friends now consist of Little Red Riding Hood, the Mad Hatter, and the _Evil Queen_," she says pointedly, "don't tell me that Starfleet doesn't exist _somewhere_ out there."

Regina simply rolls her eyes. "Keep dreaming, dear."

"It's common sense," she replies firmly, staring Regina down.

"It might be common but it's certainly not sense."

Emma huffs and takes another sip of coffee. "You're no fun."

"I'm all sorts of fun, dear, but the fun I have is much more sophisticated," Regina shoots back, raising an eyebrow. Emma wonders if the caffeine is going to her head or if there really is something infinitely suggestive about the gesture.

"I bet," she says quietly in response, keeping her eyes fixed on Regina's. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment, a strange sort of challenge hanging in the air between them.

Then Henry crashes into the room, backpack hanging off one shoulder, bundled pile of wrapped presents balanced precariously in the crook of his other arm – and the moment, whatever kind of moment it was, is gone.

"Hey there, kiddo, d'you need another bag?" Emma asks, standing, and hears Regina's chair scrape against the tile behind her.

"Erm, yeah, actually. That'd probably help," he affirms, letting his backpack fall to the floor and bringing the other arm round to balance the pile.

"I'll get you one, Henry," Regina says, and promptly fishes one out from beneath the sink.

"Mom don't forget the thing for, Emma," he says excitedly as he shoves the differing shaped boxes into the plastic bag that Regina's now holding open for him.

"Thing for Emma?" the blonde asks, interesting piquing. "What thing for me – you have a thing for me?"

Their eyes meet briefly, Emma's accidental question not lost on either of them.

"Yeah, quick, go get it," Henry orders, breaking the moment once again.

"Right, yes," Regina hums in response, straightening herself out. "Consider it a favor."

Emma raises an eyebrow, suspicious, "What kind of favor?"

"One you'll be in my eternal debt for," the brunette replies, heading out of the kitchen. "Come with me," she adds, not bothering to check whether Emma's following.

The blonde's eyes shift to Henry, who looks like he's trying to hide a grin, and then follows after Regina. The other woman leads her up the stairs and towards her – _wait_. Emma's eyes widen involuntarily.

"Erm, Regina?" she asks, "Why're we going to your bedroom?"

"Because I never murder people in the kitchen, it's unsanitary," she replies without missing a beat, not even turning. The blonde rolls her eyes but follows tentatively.

She's never been in Regina's room before – she could have figured most of what it looked like from the décor of the rest of the house – but there are certain touches around the place that make her lips pull into a tiny smile.

The bed's made neatly, white sheets tucked carefully under the mattress like a professional had done it, and there's not a piece of clothing anywhere on the floor (unlike in her own room) – but the top of the vanity is littered with all sorts of odds and ends. There's make up scattered here and there, a near empty bottle of black nail polish. There's a hairbrush, an up-ended bottle of hairspray, various bits of jewelry strewn around seemingly carelessly, a small pile of coins with an eyelash curler sitting on top of it. There's a picture of Henry there too, looking pudgy, with his front teeth missing – and hanging off one corner of the frame is a gaudy bracelet made of plastic beads, obviously made by him for Regina.

The book case isn't as big as the one in Regina's study, but it's a fair size, and Emma feels her fingers twitch slightly as she looks at all the leather bound volumes sitting on it. Since her love of reading had been a secret, she'd managed to do a pretty good job of _not_ drooling over Regina's impressive collections around the house; but now it's out there and the other woman knows, she's finding it harder to pretend like she doesn't want to hole up there as if it were her own personal library. There's more to the bookcase than that though. One shelf is full of little brightly colored books, clearly meant for children, and there's another photo frame sitting at one end – this time with a picture of both Henry and Regina in it. Henry looks younger and, though she knows that it's technically not possible, so does Regina. There's a light in her eyes, a happiness that Emma's rarely seen, it makes her heart ache somewhat inexplicably.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?" she snaps her head around to see Regina staring at her from the entrance to her – _oh for Christ's sake is that a walk-in wardrobe? Really?_

"It's not polite to snoop, dear," Regina reprimands her, crossing her arms across her chest, and Emma feels her cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment.

"I wasn't –"

Regina rolls her eyes. "Don't fret about it, we've already established your manners are somewhat non-existent," she says, disappearing inside the closet. Emma doesn't bother arguing – she's accepted this is not a fight she's going to win – and follows the woman inside the closet.

She lets out a low whistle as she enters. "Jesus, Regina, how many clothes do you need?"

"I believe we've already discussed our varying tastes in fashion as well," she quips, "more specifically, your _lack_ of one."

"There's nothing wrong with leather," Emma grits out.

"Not in moderation, no. Sadly though, my dear, I think you may be solely responsible for the decreasing bovine population."

The blonde's mouth quirks upwards. "You totally just said that because you knew I'd understand you."

Regina gives a little half shrug. "I won't deny that I'm somewhat enjoying being able to speak to you at above a fifth grade level."

Emma opens her mouth to respond but Regina shoots her a look that clearly states she was joking, and she shuts it again.

"So, did you have a reason for bringing me up here? Or were you luring me under false pretenses?" she asks instead, raising an eyebrow at the other woman.

"I told you, I'm doing you a favor," Regina replies unhelpfully, moving over to a cupboard in the corner (and Emma rolls her eyes at the fact that there are closets within the closet) and rifling through things.

"And that favor would be?"

Regina stands up again, a large box in her hands. "Do you have a dress for tomorrow?"

Emma startles slightly – that wasn't what she was expecting. Not that she knows what she was expecting.

"I, erm…yeah, yeah Mary Margaret said she'd get me one," she replies.

"And you trust your mother's dress sense enough to be seen wearing whatever's she's bought you?" Regina asks skeptically.

"Well…I dunno it can't be that bad, can it?" Emma shrugs. She would have got one herself, only she's been a bit busy lately – not to mention she's not really sure exactly what kind of dress Storybrooke's Boxing Day Masquerade Ball requires, considering she's never been to one before. She's never been to a ball before. There's probably some irony in that somewhere, considering she's Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter.

Regina chuckles darkly under her breath. "Emma, believe me, I've been to twenty seven of these things with her – whatever she thinks is appropriate is not going to be something you want to be seen dead in. I promise you."

Emma groans. "I shouldn't have let her buy my dress, should I?"

"You most assuredly should not have," Regina agrees, smirking, "and I advise more forethought in future."

"Shit. What am I gonna do?"

"Favor," Regina says simply, holding out her arms towards the blonde, and Emma finally takes stock of the box in them. She eyes it suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"That is your favor. Don't bother opening it now – but I expect grateful thanks tomorrow. Maybe some groveling," Regina shrugs, a wicked glint in her eyes.

Emma looks from the box that Regina has now placed in her hands to the woman and back again.

"Should I be worried about what's in here?" she asks carefully.

"No, dear, you should be worried about what's in the one your mother will give you," Regina says, ushering Emma out of the closet and back down the stairs.

Henry's waiting at the bottom, backpack on and bag of presents clutched in his hands.

"Did you give it to her?" he asks excitedly, and Emma turns to look at Regina, who's smirking.

"Why do I feel there's a conspiracy going on?" she asks, feeling a mixture of bemusement and discomfort at the way Henry and his other mother are exchanging glances.

"No conspiracy," Regina shrugs innocently, "merely helpfulness."

Emma narrows her eyes at her, letting Henry take her by the elbow and lead her to the front door without taking her eyes off the other woman.

"Oh you can wipe that expression off your face," Regina says, rolling her eyes, "I told you – I'm doing you a favor."

"Ahuh," Emma mumbles, unconvinced. She keeps her eyes narrowed at the other woman all the way out the door, shooting her one last suspicious look once she's bundled Henry into the car.

"Favor," Regina calls to her, smirking.

"Sure," Emma replies, jumping into the driving seat and rolling her eyes. Henry's sitting in the passenger seat, grinning like he knows something, and she cuffs him around the ear.

"Shut up."

He just grins.

.

.

.

Emma doesn't get a chance to look at what's in the box all day. By the time she's got Henry home and they've done their presents to each other they're already running late for lunch and they have to change hurriedly and rush out the door.

When they get to her parents they're both grinning inanely, like something off a Christmas card. Snow (it could only have been Snow) has the two of them in matching Christmas sweaters. Unsurprisingly, she has two for Emma and Henry as well.

She puts up a fuss – her pride and dignity depend upon it – but secretly, as they sit to table in their ridiculous, cheesy yuletide attire, a little part of her is jumping around like a giddy little schoolgirl.

She's spent a long time wishing for this, dreaming of it. She's spent a long time dreaming of a family that does ridiculous, clichéd things on holidays. That are so ordinary and perfect it's sickening. She's spent a long time dreaming of a _family_. Full stop. Okay so what she got were far from ordinary, and the sickening perfection is not the kind she was going for – it's the kind that generally makes her want to tear her hair out on a daily basis – but they're still family. And they're _hers_.

She's still angry about Neverland. Hell, she's still angry about the goddamn magical wardrobe incident. She's angry, and every time her father picks Henry up or wrestles with him, every time her mother comforts someone with gentle hands and soothing words, she wants to scream. She wants to scream out of jealousy, out of hurt, out of the pain it causes her to see her parents _parenting,_ parenting someone that's not her – the pain of knowing they're actually good at it. They would have been good parents, she thinks, and she could have had a happy childhood. But she can't change that, no matter how much she wants to. So even though she's not finished being angry about it, even though there are _still_ conversations they need to have, even though the tension is still in the air between her and her mother – it's Christmas. And they're wearing matching sweaters. And pulling crackers and telling stupid jokes at each other. So even if it is just for the day, she decides to stop being angry with them for a little while, and to just be their kid. She decides to have a family Christmas dinner and enjoy it, instead of letting the bitterness she feels ruin it.

It works, mostly. For one day she manages to put aside all the hurt she still feels relating to her parents, and she's just a single mother with her son at Christmas dinner with her parents. It almost feels natural.

Except, as the day wares on, there's a growing part of it that doesn't feel natural. Not because of the anger she feels towards her parents – she's a grown woman, she can compartmentalize easy enough – but because she's _not_ just a single mother. Her son has another parent, another mother, and there's a rather large part of her that recognizes you really can't have family dinner if the whole family isn't there. And the whole family isn't there. _Regina_ isn't there.

It's fun, the matching sweaters and the crackers and the stupid jokes. It's fun being a family and doing Christmas like people are meant to – but it doesn't feel complete. It doesn't feel like everyone's there, because everyone isn't, and there's an ache in Emma's chest that tells her this isn't right. That they never should have worked out the stupid time-share and they should all have just had Christmas together. Even if it meant Regina turning David into a pine vole or something. Because she was wrong before, when she'd said they weren't a family. Sure, they're not exactly normal. Or functional. Dinner had been hellish - but it had still felt more _natural_ than this.

By the time people are coming over for drinks in the evening, Emma's feeling positively awful, and once her parents are both properly distracted she sneaks off outside, phone in hand.

"If the question is 'Will I help you hide your parents' bodies' then I would be delighted," Regina greets her after three rings.

Emma laughs. "It hasn't actually been that bad," she admits.

"Vodka?" Regina asks calmly, and Emma rolls her eyes.

"I'm not drunk – it's actually been kinda _nice_."

"You're wearing a Christmas sweater, aren't you?"

Emma's mouth falls open in shock. "How did you – I mean, no! What?"

Regina chuckles, "I should have known the Christmas fairy would get to you. You never had a chance."

"Regina, what are you talking about?" she huffs.

"Your mother is Christmas personified – I'm surprised you hadn't noticed already," Regina replies.

"Been a little busy," Emma shoots back.

"Admittedly she has been a little less obnoxious about the carol singing this year. But trust me I've had twenty seven years of Christmases with her – there was one year when I was honest to God the only resident of this town who escaped the dreaded Christmas sweater."

Emma chokes on a laugh. "You're not serious?"

"Deadly."

"You mean to tell me that being un-cursed and rediscovering her roots as a fairy tale character has _mellowed_ her?"

"For Christmas related things, certainly," Regina says serenely, and Emma shakes her head in disbelief.

"Jesus."

"It's his birthday, Emma, can't you even spend today without using his name in vain?" Regina sighs.

"Jesus was born in March," Emma shrugs, leaning back against the wall, "besides, I didn't know you held such affection for him."

"I don't, particularly."

"Then why d'you care?" she asks, smirking.

There's a pause, in which Emma imagines the other woman is rolling her eyes. Then she speaks again.

"Emma was there actually a point to this phone call?"

The blonde blinks, a little startled. Was there? No. Not really.

"I…yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm not," she says, voice guilty, "I just wanted to, you know, check in and stuff."

"Why?"

And there's that bloody question again. _Why_.

She doesn't _know_ why. She just…wanted to. Also she didn't feel like the family was complete without Regina and wished she'd been there but there's absolutely no way in _hell_ that she's going tell her that.

"To say Merry Christmas," she settles on eventually, "because I didn't…this morning. I don't think I ever said it so I just…I just figured I…should," she frowns. _Way to be cool, Swan_.

"So, yeah, Merry Christmas!" she says quickly, wincing at herself.

Regina sighs, and Emma imagines she's rolling her eyes again, but when she speaks there's something in her voice that, if she didn't know better, could almost certainly be mistaken for happiness.

"Merry Christmas, Emma."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Regina had been telling the truth about her mother's dress choosing abilities. After everyone had cleared out for the evening, and she and Henry had been on the brink of departing themselves, Snow had called her over and, beaming, handed her a dress box.

Uninclined to ruin the mood, Emma had taken in the yards of gauzy baby blue material with a smile plastered on her face, and had thanked her mother profusely. They'd barely made it to the car before Henry had burst out laughing.

Needless to say, she hadn't been impressed.

When they'd got home, though, she'd been too tired to do anything about it – and she and Henry had both fallen into bed fairly promptly after one last Christmas film.

Boxing Day dawns with another fresh coating of snow, this one deep enough to bury the blades of grass that had been hopefully peeking out from the flakes that had fallen on Christmas. Emma and Henry spend the morning fairly lazily – Henry playing with his presents, and Emma switching between watching him in rapt fascination, and reading.

They eat some of the leftovers her parents had insisted upon them for lunch, and before she knows it Jefferson's at her door ready to pick him up.

"So the nuns really don't mind?" Emma asks, as she and Jefferson stand watching Henry proudly show off his presents to Grace.

Jefferson shrugs. "They might, but this is just how it's always gone. Everyone old enough wants to go to the Masquerade – it's the biggest event in the Storybrooke calendar."

"Yeah I'd figured that," Emma grumbles.

Excitement for the ball had been buzzing since way back in September. With everything that had been going in on in Storybrooke, there hadn't really been opportunity for the annual event to take place since the curse broke – and when it was announced that the tradition would finally be resumed this year she'd thought people were going to pass out from anticipation.

"They do rotate you know – some nuns go some years, some go others," Jefferson adds. "They've all been. But that way there's always people around to look after the kids."

Ruby had laughed at Emma when she'd asked if she knew anyone who'd be able to babysit Ball Night. It was a strictly 18+ event, and everyone over that age was always absolutely sure to be there. Apparently there was never a responsible adult to be had on Boxing Day evening, so the nuns had started having all the towns' children over to the orphanage for one massive sleepover. If Henry and Grace's excitement level is anything to go by – Emma reckons that the adults are the ones truly missing out on the party.

"I guess it'll be busier this year," Emma says pensively, eyes fixed on the way Henry's grinning as he explains his Star Wars figurines are mint in package.

"How would you know, you've never been," Jefferson points out.

"Yeah, but the curse has broken – kids are ageing. There must be some new eighteen year olds who've spent like thirty years just a couple of years away from old enough."

"Oh," the man replies, frowning, "yeah I guess you're right." He laughs then "Wow that must have sucked."

"Agreed," Emma nods. "Imagine being permanently just too young for the biggest event of the year."

.

.

.

Milla can't quite stop shaking, she's so excited. She'd spent so long just a year too young to go to the Masquerade, and when she'd finally hit eighteen there hadn't been one. She'd been so panicked they wouldn't throw another one that when they'd announced they were, she'd almost feinted from excitement. It had always been her favorite event of the year.

The sleepover for the kids was fun, sure, but she'd used to sit and watch all the grown-ups in their posh suits and beautiful dresses, faces hidden by fancy masks, and longed for the day she'd get to go.

After Obie she'd been so upset she'd practically forgotten about it – but then, of course, a mysterious figure had shown up out of nowhere and told her to stop moping and start enjoying life like Obie would want her to. And, okay, maybe that was a little strange – but Obie would certainly want her to go to the_ Ball_.

She stares into the bathroom mirror, adjusting her hair for the thousandth time, smoothing an eyebrow with a shaky finger and glancing down at her midnight gown. She wants to look beautiful. She wants to look as sophisticated as the adults she used to watch with wistful brown eyes every Boxing Day for twenty-odd years. She wants to look like a grown-up. Not least of all because grown-ups get to drink, and this last month she's discovered she really quite likes drinking.

She wants to be noticed, she doesn't want to be invisible anymore. She'd thought being invisible was good – but Obie was pretty invisible – and it never did him any good. The figure in the garden had been right, living was so much more fun. Enjoying yourself was so much more fun.

She's been trying to stop being invisible, trying to enjoy herself as best as possible since the murder – but tonight, tonight she's determined. Tonight, she's finally really going to have some fun.

.

.

.

Emma fidgets nervously, examining herself in the full length mirror in her wardrobe door. Regina also hadn't been lying about doing her a favor. Whilst, objectively, the dress Snow bought her is pretty - its baby blue coloring and layers of lace, chiffon and god-only-knows-what just really aren't her scene. Dresses in general aren't always necessarily her scene. She wore them when she was on jobs, she wore them – occasionally – when she was on dates. She hasn't worn one in a while though, and she doesn't often wear them for pleasure.

The dress Regina's given her though – well if she were gonna wear a dress.

The floor length gown is jet black, made of a silky material that clings to her figure in just the right way. It's strapless, with laces up the back – and Jefferson had taken disgusting pleasure in lacing it so tightly she could barely breathe. It's jeweled, but not gaudily so. The crystals that scatter across the bodice and down it are also black, tiny, and under dim light she gives the illusion of twinkling like stars. It's cut low enough, and laced tight enough, that it gives her an amount of cleavage which she's somewhat equally fascinated and delighted by.

It looks _good_, if she says so herself. Certainly much better than a fluffy baby blue thing. Regina's definitely earned a little bit of grateful groveling – even if Emma's a little loathe to admit it – the woman's kinda saved her life. Or at least her dignity.

When she'd opened the box – desperately and warily – she'd laughed at the fact Henry and Regina had managed to psych her out about nothing. She doesn't know if that was the whole joke, but she hopes it was. If the dress is enchanted to turn pastel pink in the middle of the evening or something she will not be impressed.

She turns, inspecting herself carefully for about the hundredth time. She doesn't know why she's obsessing quite so much – she doesn't generally care so much about what she looks like – but tonight she finds she really does want to look good.

She's twisted her hair up into a bun, letting a few stray waves out of it here and there as well as a couple to frame her face – and for once she's made a real effort with her makeup, putting on more eyeliner than usual and whacking on some red lipstick. She's even curled her eyelashes.

"Oh for god's sake, yes, you look hot – can we please _go_?" Jefferson asks, holding out her jacket for her and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"I look hot?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Infinitely fuckable," he replies sarcastically and she smacks him around the head.

"You're disgusting."

"And you're late," he replies.

"If I'm late, you're late," she shrugs, grinning.

"Yes but I'm not meeting a date there."

Emma stares at him. "What?"

"Emma, come on," he smirks.

She frowns. "No, really, _what_?"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine, deny it if you want – but Ruby told me. So I know."

"Know _what_?" she asks, frustrated. "Why does everyone suddenly know all this stuff about me?"

Jefferson looks at her for a moment, then his own brow creases. "Wait you really have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well, erm, just forget I said anything then," he shrugs, and heads for the door.

"Jefferson!" she shouts, running after him as best she can in her four and a half inch heels. "What the hell were you talking about?"

He opens the car door for her, shrugging again. "Nothing, Emma, don't worry about it," he smirks, and she lets out a tiny little scream of frustration.

"You're all fucking insane," she grumbles as he slides into the driver's seat.

Jefferson turns to her, one eyebrow raised, "Didn't you get the memo? I'm the mad hatter, 'course I'm insane."

Emma just sighs, exasperated, and turns to stare moodily out of the window.

"You're such a child," he says, turning the key in the ignition.

"And you're such an asshole, now fucking drive – we've got a Masquerade to get to."

.

.

.

By the time they get there Emma is feeling inexplicably nervous. There's butterflies in her stomach that have no reason being there, and she's sweating slightly. She feels stupid. Her lipstick's too bright, her dress too low cut, and her cleavage is _really_ impressive. Really _excessive_.

She feels over-dressed, over-exposed. She doesn't want an excess of attention on her – she's never liked being the center of attention – but this is the kind of outfit that's sure to get her some.

Jefferson huffs, killing the ignition. "Okay, Emma, what is it?"

She turns to him, noticing for the first time that she's been drumming her fingers noisily against her clutch. "I...nothing I just…I dunno."

"Emma there's no one else here – and no one else is going to ask you tonight because they'll all be too distracted to deal with your little problems. So if it's something you need to talk about then just tell me. Now."

She shifts uncomfortably. "I just – I dunno," she shrugs, "I feel weird. I don't do stuff like this."

"Like what?" he frowns.

"Dances. Balls. Fancy events!" she retorts, voice betraying her panic.

"Wait," Jefferson laughs, incredulous, "you're not telling me that big bad Sheriff Swan is afraid of a little dance?"

"No!" she exclaims, "Only…yeah, kinda," she bites on her lip and glances at him warily.

"Emma that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he replies.

"Well maybe it is, but you guys have been to twenty seven of these things – and I never even went to prom."

Jefferson's looking at her like she's crazy.

"This is stupid isn't it?"

"_So_ stupid," he grins, bewilderment in his expression, and she lets out a little laugh.

"Sorry, I dunno what got into me," she states, shaking her head.

"Nerves," Jefferson supplies simply.

"What reason do I have to be nervous?"

The man looks at her for a very long moment, like he did back at the house, then shakes his head, sighing.

"You really don't know, do you?" he asks and she gives a frustrated huff.

"Know _what_?"

"Oh, Emma," he smirks, "you really are an idiot."

She opens her mouth to protest, but he's pulling her into his side with one arm and pressing a kiss the side of her head in a gesture so warm and brotherly she can't really stay angry at him.

"Just chill. It's all gonna be fine, okay? And if you get really sick of it then, you know – I'm sure Lil won't mind taking you home."

She pulls back and smacks him around the arm.

"What?" he asks. "It's ball night – I have a reputation to uphold."

Emma's mouth turns up in disgust. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," he shrugs, smirking, "but let's just say it's a good job Grace is out of the house."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You're an ass."

"And you're an idiot, so we're even."

"Oh just shut up and hand me my goddamn mask."

.

.

.

Emma has to stop and take in a startled breath as she enters the hall. She's not one to get gushy over interior design but, damn, if she didn't just walk into winter wonderland.

"Well, shit, I guess a little fairy dust really helps with decorating duties," Jefferson says as he stands behind her, taking in the large room before them.

Apparently the nun's had also always been responsible for doing up Storybrooke's own personal ballroom, but even without Jefferson's slightly awed exclamation – she'd have doubted that it ever looked this good in Storybrooke's pre-magic days.

The floor looks smooth and white, glittering like snow in moonlight. The walls are hidden by images of completely snow covered mountains – not any she recognizes and she wonders idly if they're mountains from Fairy Tale Land. There are huge Christmas trees every few meters or so down around the walls. Tall, dark spruces covered almost completely by glistening colored ornaments. Each tree alternates – half the trees draped in reds and golds, the other half in silvers and blues. All topped off with layers of fake snow. The tables are laid perfectly, not a silver spoon out of place, and each holds its own centerpiece of greenery. Holy, ivy, mistletoe, all bundled together in silver and gold ribbons, and sprinkled with glittery white snowflakes.

Perhaps the greatest (or cheesiest, a little part of her whispers) touch is the way that snow appears to be sifting gently down from the ceiling. The whole thing is a little overwhelming.

"I think the nuns have been watching too much Harry Potter," Jefferson says distastefully, wiping a stray flake from his shoulder.

"Says the man whose Star Wars addiction is responsible for the nerdification of two perfectly innocent children," Emma shoots back, deciding not to let Jefferson being a grumpy old man ruin anything for her.

Because okay, yeah, maybe the whole thing is a little over the top – but she's never seen anything quite as amazing or elaborate in her life. She's pretty sure this beats prom by a mile.

Except for the fact that at prom you tend to have a date – and all she's got is Jefferson. And even that's only until he can find his unwitting victim for the evening.

"Nerdification isn't a word," he replies, sneering as someone pushes past them – resulting in them backing into a tree – and he ends up with glitter on his tux.

"Oh shut up and stop being bitter," she casts another glance around the room – taking in the way the low lighting is causing everything to glisten and shimmer gently – and turns back to him with a grin on her face, "you gotta admit this is pretty awesome."

He rolls his eyes. "You've changed your tune."

"Yeah, well." She takes a look at the people pouring in through the door, all immaculate tuxes and beautiful gowns in every color and style you could think of. "Sitting in the car surrounded by old chip packets and Grace's muddy soccer shoes – I was feeling a little overdressed. Now I feel less like I'm going to stick out like a saw thumb."

Jefferson raises his eyebrows behind his jeweled black mask, but says nothing.

"Oh come on, let's just go get a drink," Emma sighs, grabbing him by the arm and leading him over to the bar she can see set into one wall.

The girl on the bar is pretty and blonde, and Emma notices that Jefferson perks up again as he sees her. She rolls her eyes. "Go on then," she nudges him, "wouldn't want you to damage you reputation or anything."

He flashes her a wicked grin, then affects a disarmingly charming smile which, to her, seems a little overkill – but the bartender flushes as he walks up to her so Emma just gives him his space and waits by a tree until he comes back and places a vodka martini in her hand.

"Go forth and conquer," he says, waving an arm out at the room.

"And what do you plan to do?" she asks, taking a large sip of her drink.

"Go behind the bar and score,"

"With her?" Emma asks, unimpressed. "_Really_?"

"Then who do you suggest?"

Emma hums, turning to survey the room, sipping at the vodka martini in her hands. She smirks, zeroing in on a target. "Her," she says, nodding her head towards a woman loitering by the buffet tables, "she's totally looking to score tonight."

"How can you tell?"

"She's hanging around and trying to catch the eye of any man that passes her whilst totally ignoring the women, believe me, she wants action." She tilts her head to one side slightly. "Also she's got a great ass."

"And having a great ass automatically means you want to score?" he asks.

"No but it's an added bonus."

Jefferson rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"What?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, "So what kind of drink d'you reckon she likes?"

Emma scans her eyes up and down the woman briefly – taking in the nice jewelry and slightly superior expression, despite the attempt to catch people's eyes. "White wine," she settles on, "try white wine."

"Dry or sweet?"

Emma makes a face at him. "What am I – psychic? I don't know!"

"Well you're the one who said white wine!" he argues, throwing his hands up in the air defensively.

"Yeah because she's rich and snooty, any idiot could see that."

"I…am not going to dignify that with a response," Jefferson sighs, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go try get laid now."

"I'd tell you you're disgusting but I'm pretty sure you already know that."

"And I'd tell you you're frustrated and could do with some action yourself – but I'm pretty sure you already know that," he smirks.

Emma opens her mouth to deny it but then shuts it again. He's not completely wrong.

"Told ya," he whispers into her ear as he turns back to the bar, "now stop hanging around like a single girl at prom and go have a little fun – for me."

"Yeah, yeah whatever," she rolls her eyes, but moves away anyway. She has no desire to be Jefferson's wingman all evening, and if he strikes out with rich-and-snooty-but-available then she just knows he'll try to rope her in to playing 'Who can Jefferson fuck?' and she really has no desire to spend her evening like that.

She almost wishes she'd stuck with him, though, when she turns around and almost spills vodka all over herself and her mother.

"Mary Margaret!"

"Emma!" her mother looks shocked, then looks her up and down and frowns. "What are you wearing?"

Emma looks down at herself, at the tight black satin gown that's sparkling in the dim light of the ballroom, then back to her mother. "A dress?" she says, though it comes out more like a question.

The creases in Snow's brow simply deepen. "That's not the dress I bought you?"

She looks at her questioningly and Emma fidgets under her gaze, taking a large gulp of her drink. "No, erm, no it isn't."

"Why aren't you wearing the dress I got you?" the other woman asks.

"I…I…" Emma stammers. _Shit_. Okay, so she hadn't really got so far as coming up with an explanation for that.

Snow raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"Well I –"

"Come, come, Snow dear I'm sure you've noticed by now that your daughter is one of the clumsier idiots any of us have had the misfortune of meeting," Emma whips around to see Regina standing just behind her, glass of wine in her hand, and smug smile on her face.

And _holy shit_ does the woman look incredible.

Regina's dress is deep, blood red. It's tight and form-fitting – despite the fact that it looks like it's made from yards of fabric, all folded around each other. The material's satiny like in her own dress, though not as shiny, and whereas her own is almost straight around the top, with just a slight dip between the cups – the neckline of Regina's plunges half-way down her chest.

It does not leave much to the imagination.

The bodice – what there is of it – is covered in elaborate embroidery, tiny black crystals sewn into the black flowers to make it sparkle like Emma's. The design weaves down and thins out slowly, glittering black vines disappearing into the folds of material in the skirt. As the woman takes a few paces forwards she sees the back is very different in design to hers too. Hers laces up at the back, the large black ribbons weaving over more black material, covering her. Regina's, though, is totally open; thin pieces of deep red ribbon criss-crossing from each side over totally exposed flesh, the material only meeting again in a 'v' at the base of her spine.

Regina's hair is swept mainly to one side, piled in messy waves that frame the side of her face, her eye makeup elaborate and smoky. If she has a mask with her she's not wearing it - for which Emma finds herself strangely grateful. The woman looks beautiful, not to mention dangerous. From the way Emma's parents are looking at her, pale faced and a little stunned – from the way Regina's looking at _them_, smirking, eyes glittering in challenge – the blonde wonders if the other woman might just be channeling her Evil Queen days.

"Regina," her mother says tightly, "how nice to see you." There's a little inflection on the word 'see' that implies she's not just talking about Regina's presence in their immediate vicinity. It's true there isn't an awful lot to the top half of her dress, but it's not something Emma minds. Apart from the fact that it's inexplicably distracting to her. She takes another big sip of her martini.

"Likewise, Snow dear," Regina smiles in mock sweetness.

Snow frowns, shifting uncomfortably before looking back to Emma again. "So why aren't you wearing the dress I bought you, Emma?"

Emma opens her mouth to answer but Regina cuts her off again, "As I said – your daughter is a clumsy fool," she responds, "lucky for her that when she ruined her first dress, I had a spare I could lend her."

Snow's eyebrows rise a fraction. "You're…wearing Regina's dress?" she asks. Emma takes another drink as Regina turns to look at her expectantly, expression serene.

"Yes. I…I spilt wine all over the other one – accidentally!" she adds quickly, and Regina rolls her eyes at her apparent lack of calm. "It was…an accident," she finishes on a mumble.

"Oh," Snow says simply, but her eyes are flicking from Emma to Regina and back again with an emotion that the blonde can't quite place, "well…okay then."

They all stand in awkward silence for a moment, Regina and Snow almost but not quite staring each other down. Then there's a flash of color to her right and Emma feels an arm slip into hers.

"Hey, Em! You look great," Lilly grins, leaning in to hug her.

"Oh, wow, hi Lil," she mumbles back in surprise. "Thanks."

Lilly herself is dressed in a modest but elegant turquoise dress, the aqua tones complimenting her red hair prettily.

"Hey, everyone," the redhead then says to the other three. Charming offers her a grin from behind Snow's shoulder, and Snow herself smiles softly.

"Hi Lilly – you look beautiful."

Lilly blushes, eyes dropping to her feet. "Thank you," she mutters, clearly a little embarrassed.

"Hi Regina," she adds, since the other woman still hasn't acknowledged her.

"Lilly," she offers the woman a tiny smile – even Regina can't dislike Lilly.

"Hey, Em, look I'm sorry to drag you away – but Freddie's dying to see you."

Emma closes her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. "No problem – I'd love to see him. I'll see you guys later, okay?" she says over her shoulder to the others as Lilly drags her eagerly away by the arm.

"Thank you thank you thank you," Emma breathes once they're far enough away and Lilly laughs.

"It looked like things were pretty icy over there – thought I'd liberate you."

Emma swipes a glass of champagne off a travelling waiter and hands it to the other woman. "You are a truly fantastic friend," she grins, as Lilly takes the proffered drink thankfully.

"I'm sure Freddie would genuinely like to see you," she says as she veers them through gaps in the brightly colored, masked crowd, "but honestly I haven't got a clue where he is right now."

The blonde shrugs, allowing herself to be led, taking the occasional sip of her martini and trying not to trip over her dress.

Lilly leads them out of a door Emma wouldn't even have known was there if the other woman hadn't opened it.

"Erm, Lil? Where we going?" she asks.

"Outside," she grins, "I take it you've never been here before?"

"Haven't really had time for sightseeing – what with all the curses and wraiths and murders and shit since I rocked up into town."

Lilly presses her lips together and gives a single nod. "Right, yeah, didn't really think of that."

There's a waiter with a tray of drinks just heading back inside and Lilly grabs one – handing it over to Emma.

"Figured you could use that," she says, with a glance down to the now empty glass in Emma's hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Lilly smiles, taking a sip of her champagne, as Emma pulls off her glittering black mask.

"So would you like to explain why we're going outside in the freezing cold in dresses that offer no protection from it?" Emma asks, but shuts her mouth promptly as they walk out onto the terrace.

Okay, that might by why.

The terrace itself is decorated just as lavishly as the ballroom, Christmas trees and all, but beyond that stretches a long expanse of carefully tended garden – full of perfectly pruned bushes and flowers she's sure should not look so bright and happy in December.

"Where the hell did this come from?" she asks, voice breathy in her shock. Lilly grins at her.

"It's always been here – granted it wasn't this, erm, vibrant before the curse broke – but it's always been here."

Wow. Okay so the ballroom might be all the way on the other side of town – and it's not like Emma has ever had much time to explore – but she'd have thought someone would warn her how grand it all was out here.

"And this place is just used for the Masquerade – that's it?" she asks incredulously, and the redhead shrugs.

"Pretty much. I reckon it was sorta the curses recognition of where everyone came from."

Emma shoots her a questioning look.

"You know, like this place is the little piece of the Enchanted Forest that got brought with us – not that I'd know since I've never been there."

The blonde nods in absent agreement – that would make sense after all – then stops.

"Wait – you're not from Fairytale Land?"

Lilly shakes her head. "Wonderland, that's me," she smiles.

Emma turns to look at her. "Wonderland? Seriously?"

The other woman nods her head a little sheepishly. "Mushrooms and caterpillars and all – although that caterpillar was a complete asshole, I hope the curse left him behind."

"Wait some of you guys are from Wonderland. _Seriously_?"

"Seriously, Emma," Lilly laughs. "Where d'you think Jefferson's from?"

Emma opens her mouth and closes it again, frowning. "But…he was from the Enchanted Forest he was just in Wonderland at the time."

Lilly shrugs. "Apparently the curse didn't discriminate – Fred and I aren't the only Wonderland nationals I've seen wandering around this place."

"Oh," Emma's frown deepens. "I can't believe I never knew you were from Wonderland," she says guiltily, but Lilly just elbows her gently in the ribs.

"Oh lighten up, would you? I don't know where you spent half your life, why should you know where I spent mine?"

Emma gives Lilly a quick smile. "Guess you're right," she says, "anyway, yeah, beautiful secret Storybrooke garden. Thanks for the tour."

"Thank me for the _rescue_," Lilly grins at her.

"Well, yeah, that too."

"It should be fairly safe for you to hang out here for a while if you want to keep avoiding them – most people tend to stay inside because it's too cold. D'you mind if I try go find Fred?"

Emma shakes her head. "No you go," she smiles, as Lilly heads back towards the door, "maybe bring him out here once you have – I still haven't had a chance to tell him I'm sorry about Jake."

Lilly frowns. "What about Jake?"

The blonde's eyes widen fractionally. "Shit – do you not know?"

The redhead freezes. "Know what?"

She hesitates, torn. On the one hand Lilly and Fred are her friends – they deserve to know the truth, on the other Lilly and Fred are her friends and Fred's still heartbroken about the breakup – telling a guy his ex was killed by freaky zombie children was probably not beneficial to mental health. The truth is good, but protection is what Emma does – and has been failing spectacularly at lately. Maybe if she can keep Fred from finding out until he's a little more stable emotionally, he'll take the news better.

"Well," Emma stammers, coughing awkwardly to hide it, "they broke up, didn't they?"

Lilly just looks confused. "Yeah – I told _you_ that."

"Right," Emma shakes her head. "Course you did it's just – I heard Jake's been pretty bummed about it too, ya know? But I guess you've gotta be on Fred's side in all this," she lies, not too smoothly – but Lilly's a fairly trusting person.

"Oh." Her forehead relaxes slightly, and instead she just looks sad. "Yeah I sorta do – sisterly duty and all. I'm sorry Jake's upset though."

Emma shrugs. "Break ups – they suck for everyone."

Lilly shoots her a little rueful smile. "That they do. Right, I'm gonna go find my useless brother – I'll bring him out when I do, okay?"

"See ya, Lil," Emma smiles.

She pulls the door open, noise and light flooding out through the gap onto the snow-dusted terrace "Stay out of trouble," Lilly grins, then disappears inside, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Emma sighs, taking a sip of her drink. She's not one hundred percent sure that was the right thing to do – but Fred's such a sweet person – she can't be the one to devastate him with Jake's death. She's been the bad news bringer for too many people already this month.

She wanders across the terrace, taking sips of the drink Lilly snagged for her, and leans against the snowy, stone railing – staring out at the garden beyond. The nuns – fairies – have clearly enchanted it as well, though whether the plants are genuinely blooming or whether they've just been magically enhanced Emma doesn't know.

She stares down at her own hands, wondering idly if she'd be able to do something like that – if she practiced of course. She's scared of magic – of all the dark things she's seen done with it – but tonight, the way the nuns have made everything look amazing, it makes her unable not to wonder if she'd be able to just do good things like that. She's never really thought of magic being something that could create beauty before – but the garden, the ballroom – she can't see any way that could be construed as bad magic. She certainly can't see what so-called price a little interior decorating could bring.

She's so lost in thought she doesn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing behind her, nor the sound of slightly unsteady footsteps across the terrace. She doesn't even notice anyone else is there until someone's leaning on the railing next to her.

"Sheriff."

She snaps her head to the side and frowns – there's a girl next to her, young and pretty, with large dark eyes that remind her of someone's, and beautifully curled brown hair. Emma frowns – she recognizes her – then a second later her eyes widen slightly as she remembers.

"Milla?" she asks.

The girl gives a breath-taking smile. "Hi."

"I, er, didn't think I'd see you here," Emma mutters guiltily, turning to face her but avoiding looking the girl in the eye.

Milla shrugs. "I've decided not to let life pass me by," she states, "Obie had his whole life ahead of him and now he's gone and it just proves that you can't take life for granted. So I'm having fun – he'd want me to," she sounds a little defensive on the last part – not to mention a little slurred, and Emma drops her gaze to the half-empty glass in her hand. She's having fun alright.

"That's," she hesitates – something about her begs that the girl isn't entirely stable, though that could just be the alcohol – but she did just lose her surrogate brother, and honestly moving on and living life is much healthier than sinking into a hole of grief and despair. "That's great," she asserts, looking up and smiling at her, "that's great that you're moving on."

Milla smiles again, "I'm pleased you think so."

"Although," Emma says, getting a strong waft of alcohol off her, "I am the Sheriff and you aren't twenty one yet – might want to lay off on the booze a little bit." She reaches out and plucks the glass out of the girl's hand.

"Oh but Sheriff," she says, "it's ball night. Give a girl a break."

The blonde fixes her with a hard glare, before finally scrunching up her nose in defeat and handing the glass back to her. "You can finish this one – then that's _it_, no more. And you're sticking with Blue for the rest of the night and going back to the orphanage with her, understood?"

She grins, taking the proffered beverage. "Thank you."

Emma chuckles, "But only because it's ball night."

"And because the closest thing I had to a little brother died?" she adds bluntly, and Emma's gaze snaps up to meet hers. "It's okay, everyone's been treating me different since it happened – you're actually being surprising normal."

She examines the girl carefully – her drunken levity isn't quite enough to hide the sadness in her – and it half reminds Emma of her at that age. She'd just had a baby in jail after being abandoned by someone she thought she loved – but she imagines the feelings of loneliness weren't hugely dissimilar, even though Milla's is probably magnified.

"Milla I…" she trails off, biting the inside of her cheek. This is awkward. Knowing that she's in part responsible for Obie's death makes it difficult to look the girl in the eyes and says she's sorry – to offer her any kind of sympathy or apology at all, in fact. But she should, it's really the least she can do. "I am so sorry about Obie."

Milla turns to her, eyes flitting across her face and then turning back out onto the garden beyond them. "Thank you, but it's okay."

Emma turns to look at her, brow creasing. That was not the response she was expecting.

"I mean it's not _okay_," she clarifies, and Emma keeps her mouth shut, turning to stare out at the greenery beyond them too, letting the girl talk. "It sucks. And no matter what I do it doesn't stop sucking. It's kind of like there's a part of me missing, and I keep expecting him to be there but he's not," she sniffs, and Emma's half tempted to put an arm around her – though she doesn't. "The worst part is that I thought I found a way to help me move on…or at least to cheer me up…but all that's doing is just making me hurt more."

"What was that?" Emma questions softly.

"Love," Milla replies, and the blonde startles.

"Love?"

"Yeah," the girl sighs, "I thought if I fell in love then maybe it would help make me feel whole again. But it turns out falling in love isn't that easy, you just end up with," she pauses, and Emma hears her take a shaky breath, "with unrequited infatuations."

Milla turns to look up at her then, dark eyes wide, and Emma curses internally. _Oh no. Oh no no no. No she really can't mean_…

"Sheriff," she says, and her voice has a pleading note to it. The blonde freezes, eyes widening slightly, left staring into the dark gaze of the girl.

"Milla I really don't –" she's already moving though, one hand at Emma's cheek as she presses their lips together. The blonde squeaks in surprise, jerking away from the contact.

"Whoa, Milla, wait."

The girl's face falls. "I'm sorry!" she exclaims. "I told you…stupid unrequited infatuation. I can't help it."

The blonde tries to soften her expression, though she can't deny she's feeling incredibly uneasy. "I know, it's okay. But believe me, it's really not me you want."

Milla's brow knits together. "You can't know that."

"I do," Emma says firmly. "I really do."

She lets out a heavy sigh. She feels weird, really weird – and not alcohol weird either. She hasn't been kissed in forever – though that hardly passed as a kiss – but goddammit if that didn't just make her realize how starved for intimacy she truly is. There's something about the girl that makes her realize that she wants it. Only it's not _Milla_ she wants it with. Apart from the fact that the girl's barely out of high school and that is just plain _wrong_, the blonde can't help shake the feeling that what was even more wrong was kissing someone else.

But that, she really doesn't understand. Because who on earth else would she be kissing?

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," she whispers, looking up at her sadly, dark eyes glistening with emotion.

And then it hits her.

There's a reason Milla's eyes seem familiar – they're large, and dark, and hold this deep seated smoldering pain. They're like Regina's eyes.

The girl is all dark hair and dark eyes and pouty lips and gentle curves and she kinda looks like _Regina_. Granted, structurally, their faces are nothing alike – whereas Regina's all angles and bone structure, Milla's all round and pixie-featured. And where the woman's skin has a hint of coffee in its tone, the girl's complexion is fair and rosy.

It's enough to make her want though. Only apparently she doesn't just _want_, she wants curvy brunettes with big brown eyes and pouty lips and _holy shit_ she thinks she wants Regina. And this whole situation doesn't just feel wrong because the kid's nineteen it feels wrong because she doesn't want to be kissing someone _else_. She wants to be kissing Regina. Just Regina. Exclusively. More than that, god, she wants Regina all to herself, in her bed, in her home in her life. Not just as Henry's other mother. Not just as a friend.

She wants to be _with_ her.

Emma startles at the realization. How the ever-loving _fuck_ did she never realize this before?

She's never been ignorant to the fact that Regina's attractive – it's impossible to ignore. When she first arrived she'd often thought to herself she wouldn't mind a bit of hate sex with her. But this, this is different. She doesn't just want to fuck her, she really wants to be with her. To be hers.

Milla's still staring at her, eyes wide and questioning.

"I do want you," the girl repeats, defensively, and Emma gives her a sad smile.

"Milla, trust me. There's someone out there for you – but it is _definitely_ not me. Besides I…there's someone else for me," she admits, head spinning at the fact that that's the truth.

Milla's face falls in sadness, full lips turning down. "I'm so sorry – I should have known," she mutters quietly, turning her gaze down to her shoes. "I should have known that wasn't a one time thing...of course you're together."

Emma frowns, confused. "Wait, what?"

Milla shakes her head. "No it's okay, it's okay I get it." She stares at her for a long moment, mouth falling open slightly as if to speak again – then she turns and flees back across the terrace.

Emma takes in a long breath of air, breathing uneven. Her head's spinning, shocked by her new discovery. It's a little bit too much to process, honestly. She need to sort her head out, needs to think.

She picks up her clutch and sweeps back across towards the doors, heading back inside and straight for the ladies.

There's an old woman just washing her hands as Emma storms into the elaborate marble finished restroom, she eyes her warily and heads out without drying them.

The blonde doesn't really care at this precise moment.

She walks to the sinks, throwing down her mask and bag onto the counter, steadying both hands on it and letting her head hang forwards. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears, and her breathing is still a little shaky. Come to mention it, she's shaking. Her whole body's trembling – from adrenaline, she guesses.

She doesn't know what kind of funny game her brain is playing, but really, of all the information to suppress – or all the moments to start _un_-suppressing it.

Objectively she can see it makes sense – she and Regina have fallen into a kind of holding pattern, where there's unspoken affection between them but it's so deep and unexplored, unexpressed, that all they do is joke around and avoid the fact they actually mean something to each other. That they're friends. Except apparently they're not – not on Emma's side certainly. She doesn't see Regina as just a friend anymore – and apparently kissing Milla broke her out of the holding pattern. She imagines it would have worked if she'd seen Regina kissing someone too.

Her fists clench involuntarily. The thought of Regina kissing someone else is even more repulsive than the idea of her kissing someone else has become. Emma lifts her head up to meet her own gaze in the mirror.

She supposes she can't entirely blame her brain for this. If she didn't have such a poor excuse of a sex life then she might have worked out a bit earlier that the only sex she wants in her life is with Regina.

She sees the door begin to open behind her in the mirror and whips around, only for her heart to jump to her throat.

Regina's standing there in all her and her dress' low-cut glory, fingers tapping against the door frame.

Emma groans, "And of course, of _course_, you'd be here right now!" She turns back around, resting her hands on the marble surface again.

She sees Regina's brow furrow in confusion behind her.

"Wha –"

"Don't," Emma snaps, "please just don't. Not right now."

Regina, fool that she is, takes a step forward, hand moving from the door, allowing it to swing shut behind her.

"Emma what's wrong?"

She groans again, letting her head hang once more and screwing her eyes shut. All she can think about is that stupid dress – about maybe tearing it off her.

"Regina please just go," she says, voice choked.

She hears the woman step forward again, feels the hand burning into the bare skin on her back.

"_Please_," she begs.

"Emma what's wrong, are you sick?" Regina asks, so oblivious. "Please tell me it's not vodka. These dresses were expensive even for my taste, I do _not_ want them covered in your vomit."

Emma offers a little humorless laugh, turning her head sideways so as to look the other woman in the eye.

"You're an idiot," she mutters.

"I think you'll find that's you, dear."

The blonde lets out a hollow noise of frustration and straightens up, pulling Regina by the arm and swinging her round until she's pinned up against the wall by the sinks.

"You don't get it, do you?" she asks, desperation in her voice.

Regina looks shocked, genuinely, which is a fairly uncommon expression on her face. Emma takes that as a tiny win at least.

"Emma wha –"

The blonde leans in close, mouth a hairs breadth away from Regina's, green eyes staring imploringly into hers.

"I…" she falters, unsure what she's actually doing. She can't tell her, can she? What if she doesn't feel the same? They've gotten to such a good place – as parents, and as friends.

She can't risk that, can't risk them. She can't risk Henry's happiness either.

"I…" but she wants to. She wants to tell Regina the truth, to tell her she really is an idiot for not realizing it sooner. She wants to take her in her arms – she's right _there_, it would be so easy.

"I've…had a lot of champagne," she lies, letting her forehead fall onto the wall, chin millimeters away from Regina's shoulder. She can't do it. She can't risk it.

"My head really hurts," that part's not a total lie at least.

Regina's answering sigh is enough to have Emma imaging the eye roll that went with it. "Well at least it wasn't vodka," she hums out, one hand moving to rub the blonde's back.

Emma closes her eyes, drinking in the warmth of Regina touch. She wants to bury her head in her neck, curl up against her and be held. Instead she keeps her head against the stone wall, chin barely brushing the skin beneath it. It's better than nothing, and she wants to stay here – maybe forever.

So of course the door to the restroom opens again and when she turns Emma sees Ruby standing there, face dark in anger, hands on her hips over her bright red dress.

"_Seriously_?" she gapes, throwing her hands up in the air, "You guys are unbelievable!"

"Rubes –" Emma starts, confused as to what her friend's problem is, and has been for that matter.

"No, can it, Emma," she spits out, turning to leave the way she's just entered, "ccome talk to me when you're ready to stop lying."

Emma stares after her in confusion, brow furrowed. She turns back to look at Regina, who's staring after Ruby with similar befuddlement on her face.

"What was that all about?" Regina asks and Emma just opens and closes her mouth a few times in shock.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

She meets Regina's gaze, which has turned back to her.

"Emma," she sighs, "are you alright?"

Emma stares at her, eyes glued to the other woman's. Her breathing starts to get shaky again.

"Yeah," she lies, "yeah I'm fine."

Regina frowns at her, but lets it go, and Emma steps away, allowing Regina to move from her position of being blockaded against the wall. The brunette walks to the door, then pauses, turning back.

"You coming?"

"I…yeah, in a minute. You go," she nods towards the door and Regina narrows her eyes at her.

"You're sure you're not going to throw up?" she asks.

Emma shoots her a tiny smile that she tries and probably fails to make reassuring. "Sure. I just need to splash some water on my face or something. I'll be fine."

"Make sure you get a drink of water too," Regina advises, then pulls open the door and sweeps back down the hallway. Emma hears the buzz of chatter reach her as the brunette opens the door back into the ballroom and the bathroom door swings shut again.

She turns back to the mirror.

This is all way too much. Contrary to what Regina now believes – she has not had enough alcohol this evening. Not enough to deal with the emotions running rampant through her.

She leans over the sink and turns the handle until there's icy cold water running from the faucet, scooping some into her hands and patting it across her face, careful to avoid her eyes. She splashes a little more across her chest and neck, letting the freezing water calm her. Then she grabs some paper towels and pats herself dry, reaching into her clutch for her powder. She touches up her makeup and smooths her hands over her dress. She's okay, everything's fine.

She can go back out there and face everyone – face Regina – and pretend like she isn't desperate to kiss her. She's been pretending this long hasn't she? Not knowing and pretending can't be too different.

It'll be fine. She'll be fine. She'll ignore it and she'll move on and she'll find someone else.

She puts her make up away and picks up her clutch, heading through the door and down the hallway.

Everything will be fine.

She opens the door and steps back out into the glistening ballroom, taking a deep breath and starting off in the direction of the bar.

Her phone buzzes in her bag and she pulls it out, swiping at it absently. She has a text from an unknown number. It reads:

**_Location: – Storybrooke Manor Ballroom_**

Emma's heart stops. _No. No no no. Not here. Not now_. She opens her mouth, panicked – though to do what she's not sure. To shout? To warn everybody? But then there's a flash and she's greeted with darkness and screaming.

She freezes.

She doesn't know what to do – if this is the same as last time then there's nothing, there's no time. _God, not again not again._

The lights come back on and she looks around, everyone else is doing the same. They all know what comes next – but no one's screaming. No one seems to have a body by them like last time.

Something hits her. Not hard, something just lands on her shoulder with a patter. Like a raindrop. She wipes at it with her hand and it's warm, and thicker than water. Her heart drops to her stomach.

She brings her fingers in front of her face and feels her heart rate speeds up. It's blood. That's blood. Slowly, very slowly, Emma lifts her chin and looks towards the ceiling.

There's another drop, this one hitting her square in the forehead.

No one's screaming, so it's Emma who does the honors. She's sure she'll never quite live it down, but she can't help it. It's not really a scream – more of a yelp of horrified surprise. Of pain.

Because there is a body – of course there is – but instead of lying on the floor this one's hanging like a limp doll from a sparkling crystal chandelier. Its dark midnight dress ripped and blood-stained, waves of brunette hair hanging limp as the body they belong to past large brown eyes that are staring lifelessly at Emma. Through Emma.

Her not-scream attracted attention and she can sense people beginning to move – beginning to panic. But more blood is beginning to fall from the body like rain and she feels it falling on her arms and face, and it takes her a minute to gather herself – once she finally does though, she's barking orders.

"Thomas," she calls, when she sees he's nearest, "you and Jefferson on crowd control. Now. I need everybody gathered together so I can talk to them."

His brow creases at her. "_You_ want to talk to them?" he asks, skeptical.

"Well someone has to."

"Emma you're covered in blood," he points out and she falters, that is true. "Fine – you can talk to them."

"Wha….me? What am I gonna say?"

"Tell them…" The blonde bites on her lip, trying to think. She's still not convinced about telling people about the connection between the murder and the children – worried about the widespread panic that information could cause – but if the pattern holds they're going to get invaded tomorrow, and people have to be warned to stay clear. "Tell them we have reason to believe this murder might cause another appearance of the children – and that as far as Doctor Whale and other hospital officials or concerned, the children are carriers for some kind of virus. Tell them that if the children do turn up tomorrow – they should stay inside and not let them in under any circumstances. You got that?"

"Think so."

"Good, get to it then," she instructs.

"What are you going to do?"

"Well for starters I was gonna go get the blood out of my eyes," she replies matter-of-factly. Thomas grimaces.

"Fair enough," he concedes, before walking away into the crowd. She heads back towards the bathroom, Ruby stepping up to her side and following her.

"Nice screaming," she deadpans, and Emma resists the urge to tread on her foot in her four inch heels.

"It was more of a yelp than a scream."

Ruby presses her lips together in apparent thought. "Nope, nope I'm pretty sure it was a scream."

"What do you want, Ruby?" Emma huffs, and the girl rolls her eyes.

"I came to help you get the blood off – you're covered in it."

"That's alright, I can help her," Regina's voice comes from behind them – and for once Emma's as unhappy to see the woman as Ruby is.

"Oh you would, wouldn't you? God forbid any of the rest of us get to spend any time with her," she adds in a grumble, and Emma watches Regina raise a delicate eyebrow. It's incredibly distracting.

"I'm sure there are plenty of things Emma could use your help with in the meantime," Regina points out, "you are a deputy after all."

Ruby's eyes narrow, but she turns to Emma anyway – question on her features. "You could go and help with the body," the blonde suggests. "I don't know how we're gonna get it down."

The girl grinds her jaw in irritation, sending Regina one more scathing look before giving a sharp nod and striding off into the ballroom.

"She really does not like me, does she?" Regina muses, and Emma sighs.

"So are you going to help me or what? I kind of have a murder to deal with out here," she asks shortly.

The brunette grabs her by the arm, pulling her into the restroom and over to a basin.

"You've ruined your dress," she observes calmly as she turns on the faucet.

"Please tell me you're not serious right now?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows at the other woman.

Regina levels a look in her direction.

"Just checking," she mumbles.

"Lean forward," the brunette instructs, pushing Emma's head down towards the sink. She tries not to think about the feel of Regina's fingers on her skin as she starts to scrub at the drying blood there. She has other things to think about right now.

The brunette doesn't linger about it though, and next thing she knows Emma's upright again, tissue being applied gently, yet firmly to her skin.

"Here I can do it," she says, batting Regina's hands away, and starting to dab at her pink-tinged skin herself.

Regina watches her in the mirror as she rubs the remains of Milla's blood from her forehead, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Emma asks with a sigh.

"Are you alright?" the other woman asks, getting straight to the point.

Emma startles. "I…" That's a pretty complicated question right now, the answer to which is pretty unequivocally no. "Yeah," she lies, "yeah I'm fine."

"You're an awful liar."

Emma turns around to face the other woman properly, trying to control the erratic beat of her heart. "I need to get back – thank you, for helping," she gives her a tiny, unenthusiastic smile and then turns to leave.

"I'm going to go check on Henry." The woman calls to her as Emma opens the door. "Make sure everything's okay and they're all safe over there."

The blonde breathes a sigh of relief – that'll be one load off her mind at least. "Thank you," she says again, with a little more feeling, then turns and flees before her emotions manage to overcome her and she does something stupid.

She needs to focus on the matter at hand.

.

.

.

Her deputies have everything pretty much under control when she reemerges. Thomas and Jefferson (a rather drunk, lipstick-stained Jefferson) are just in the process of herding the panicked ball guests out into the snow towards their respective homes – having already informed them of the possible oncoming threat of the children. Ruby is hovering as Whale oversees the removal of the body – with a little help from Blue since no one has a ladder – and Lilly is working with David to clean up the blood on the floor.

She takes a deep breath before heading back over. Desperate not to let who the victim is get to her.

"Whale have you got this?" Emma asks him, pleased her voice isn't shaking, when she gets to them.

"Same sort of thing as last time? I'm on it – but not until the morning if that's, alright with you Sheriff? I'm not sure I should legally be handling a scalpel right now – not even on a dead person."

From the way he slurs slightly on every second word, Emma's inclined to agree with him.

"That's fine – get back to me tomorrow ASAP though, okay?"

He nods. "Will do. Come on guys," he says then to the two EMTs loading the body bag onto the stretcher.

Emma waves him off and turns to her father and Lilly, grabbing Ruby's arms and dragging her over to the other two. She waves over Jefferson and Thomas as they herd out the final stragglers.

When they get there she pulls them into a conspiratorial huddle. "Okay, guys," she starts – sounding so much more with it than she feels. Wherever she's pulling this from, she's grateful for it. "Here's the thing. We're all tired, we're all ranging from tipsy to downright Jefferson –"

"Drunk," he interjects with a hiccup, "you mean drunk."

Emma just looks at him. "You see my point. Whale's not doing the autopsy 'til tomorrow – and without that there's really nothing more to go on than last time. If the pattern holds though, that means we're probably getting visited by Rosemary's assorted hoards tomorrow – in which case we've gotta come up with a plan to keep them away from people."

"You got any ideas on that one?" Ruby asks, a little more snippily than really called for.

"No," she admits, "I'm too tired to think of anything now – that's why I'm saying I think we should all just cut our losses and go try get some sleep. We're getting up early tomorrow and everyone's on duty. Consider this red alert."

"Trekkie nerd," Jefferson mumbles, then hiccups again. Emma just rolls her eyes.

"Bring your lightsaber tomorrow if it's going to make you feel better," she tells him, "but right now everyone is going home, drinking a big glass of water, and setting their alarms for six," she winces herself at that one, but she can't have a repeat of last time. She just can't.

"I want you all at the station by seven am at the latest. I don't care what hangover cures you have to bring with you, just be there. We clear?"

The group takes a collective breath and then nods their agreement.

"Good. See you tomorrow then," she straightens up and everyone follows suit. They all start heading for the door – some more stable than others.

Lilly slips an arm into Emma's. "You know," she says, wiping at her damp eyes and sniffing, "that was actually pretty awesome just then," a tiny smile makes its way through her clearly saddened expression.

Emma can't help her own tiny answering smile. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," the redhead asserts.

Emma shrugs, a mild sensation of pride washing over her. "I guess it was a little bit."

She's not even sure where it came from really – she feels tired, and confused, and generally wiped. She feels like an emotional train wreck. But like it had once or twice in Neverland, control had come easily to her, orders slipping from her mouth without her having to think about them – just knowing they were the right ones. It feels good. It feels comforting. It feels like maybe she isn't a complete failure as Sheriff, as Savior, as a _leader_.

She and Lilly are last to leave the building, and as her she moves her foot off the final step to bring it down on the sidewalk below, Lilly lets out a little yelp of surprise

"Emma watch out!"

It's too late, though, her foot has crashed down on something and there's the echoing sound of shattering in the silence of the night.

"What the –"

Emma stops short when she moves her foot to see what she stepped on. It's a gnome – like the one she stepped on before, or the one on her front step. Different colors, going by the pieces of smashed china, but still definitely a gnome. This one's hat has survived her attack.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters, kicking away the bits of broken garden ornament, "being stalked by garden gnomes, freaking ridiculous."

She looks up to see Lilly frowning at her – she looks a little bit angry, truth be told.

"Lil?" Emma asks, "Sorry I didn't mean to offend you if you're a gnome lover or anything."

The redhead's frown deepens momentarily, then there's a flash of comprehension in her eyes and her brow smooths out again. "What? No! Sorry, Em, I'm just…I taught Milla, ya know? She was a good kid, just like Obie and this…this is just so –"

"Unfair?" Emma finishes for her, and Lilly nods.

"Why's this happening, Em?" she looks like she's trying really hard not to cry again, so the blonde reaches over and pulls her into an awkward hug. She's really not so great at the whole comforting thing.

"I dunno – but we're gonna figure it out. I promise we're gonna stop this."

Lilly sniffs, but nods. "I know. I know – and I'm pleased that I can help with that it's just…I dunno. They were so young, it's such a tragic waste of life."

Emma nods herself. "Can't argue with that," she breathes, releasing her, "we'll solve it, Lil. We will. But none of us are gonna solve it if we don't get any sleep – you need a ride home?"

"Do _you_ need a ride home?" Lilly asks, giving a little chuckle "I only had a couple of glasses of champagne."

"Well I only had a couple of glasses of vodka," Emma argues.

"I win," Lilly smiles, "come on – wouldn't want the Sheriff to kill herself drunk driving in the middle of a murder case, now, would we?"

Emma rolls her eyes, but allows Lilly to wrap a hand around her arm and guide her to her car. She doesn't actually have the Bug with her anyway, she remembers, since she came with Jefferson.

"In," Lilly instructs when they reach her beaten up old pick-up, and Emma complies gratefully. She's worried that now she's done what needed to be done for the evening she's going to crash – and if she does it would be better if it doesn't happen when she's driving.

.

.

.

When they pull up Lilly gets out and makes sure Emma gets to the door alright – which is technically ridiculous since she's not even drunk – but she was right in that she feels herself beginning to lose it again, and she's pretty sure Lilly can sense it – so she's grateful for the support.

"Thanks, Lil," she smiles, as she pushes the door open, "are you gonna be alright to drive back or d'you wanna crash in the guest room?"

Lilly shakes her head. "Nah that's okay. I wanna check Jefferson made it to bed rather than a gutter – and Fred's probably wondering what's going on so I should fill him in. I'll see you at the station tomorrow though."

"'Kay, well, thanks again."

The redhead smiles. "No probs. I'll see you tomorrow," and with that she turns and gets back into her car, pulling out of the drive.

Emma listens to the sound of the engine disappearing back through the trees as she steps inside, toeing off her heels and wandering back through into the living room.

She's planning on going straight to her room – straight to bed – but as she walks she sees movement from the corner of her eye and turns, jumping almost out of her skin at the sight of a figure hovering by the window.

"Holy _shit!"_ she yells, "Regina? What the _hell?"_

The brunette steps out of the shadows, face stoic. "Sorry, Emma, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Then I hope for the sake of my sanity that you never try to actually scare me."

The corner or Regina's mouth turns up in a tiny smirk. "That's probably wise."

"What are you doing here?" she asks, shrugging off her jacket and throwing it onto a chair, then she sits heavily on the couch, watching as Regina hesitates by the coffee table.

"I just wanted to check you got home safely," she mutters, "you were drunk."

Emma opens her mouth to argue – but being drunk is her cover story – so she's gotta take this one.

"Right, well, since you're alive and in one piece I'm going home."

"How? Your car's not here," Emma says, then frowns, "Wait how did you get here in the first place?"

"Teleportation spell," Regina shrugs.

Emma rolls her eyes. "You couldn't have just driven?"

"I've been drinking too."

"Oh what and drunk teleportation is less risky than drunk driving?" she scoffs.

"Marginally," Regina replies flatly, unamused. "I should really go though so –"

"You don't have to," Emma says – possibly a bit too fast. "Did you go see Henry?"

"He was asleep, obviously, but I spoke to the nuns. They've put some extra protections up so it should be safe there for now."

"Good," Emma nods, "that's good."

Regina sighs loudly. "Okay, Emma, what is it?"

"What's what?" she asks innocently.

"What's _wrong_ with you? I mean I understand that that murder wasn't pleasant – especially not from your angle – but you're acting even weirder than you did after the last one. So what's wrong?"

The blonde hesitates, unsure whether or not to actually tell her. But there's guilt eating at her from the inside out – and if she doesn't tell someone then she might go mad. Because everything about her encounter with Milla had been heartbreaking – and there's this little gnawing worry inside her that it might have been the last conversation the girl ever had.

"It's…it's about Milla," she admits at her hands.

Regina raises an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Milla," Emma repeats, "the victim."

"Oh." The brunette's face softens a touch. "What about her?"

"Well…" Emma laughs nervously, "I might've…seen her tonight."

"You _what_?" she doesn't need to look up at Regina to know her eyebrows will have skyrocketed.

They do that. It's kind of adorable, the bewildered puppy look.

"Emma?" Regina presses.

"She came to see me when I was outside. She was kinda tipsy and clearly pretty lonely - and she, well she was…forward," she mutters.

"Care to elaborate?" Regina's tone is unreadable, flat.

"She…we…" Emma finally casts her gaze up to meet the other woman's, looking at her imploringly. "She kissed me."

Regina blinks, mouth opening then closing again in surprise. "She kissed you?"

"Well it was hardly a kiss, really," Emma adds, "I mean she barely had her mouth on mine and I pushed her away but…I don't know. I think she had a crush on me or something and I had to tell her I wasn't interested."

"Well that's hardly your fault," Regina replies stiffly. "Sometimes people are prone to infatuation."

Emma sighs, "I know but – the kid looked heartbroken, you know? And her eyes they were so –"

Regina's jaw tightens. "Emma, let me stop you right there. I really have no interest whatsoever in talking about your sexual experimentation with dead orphans," she deadpans.

"Hey she wasn't dead when I – d'you know what? Never mind," Emma sighs, taking in her expression. Regina's clearly in a pretty awful mood.

"And it was hardly sexual experimentation, the girl kissed me for about three seconds."

"How fascinating," the brunette shoots back, and Emma stares at her.

"Hey you asked me what was wrong."

"I did," she agrees. "Because I foolishly assumed that your problems wouldn't involve listening to you talk about your conquests with infants."

"She wasn't an infant!" Emma says defensively.

"How old was she?" Regina asks skeptically, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Emma coughs. "Nineteen," she mumbles.

"What's that, dear?"

"Nineteen," she says again, only slightly louder.

"Exactly," Regina's jaw tightens again.

"Yeah well how old where you when I was born?" Emma asks angrily.

The other woman hesitates. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Emma says quickly, eyes widening.

Regina looks at her for a long moment, then starts to move. "I really should go –"

"Wait," Emma stands, and the brunette turns to her. They stare at each other for a long moment.

"I should go," Regina says again, though makes no sign of moving.

There's a part of her that wants to say something, but at the same time she's also a little lost in brunette's dark eyes. She hardly realizes that her feet have carried her forward, that she's moved so that Regina's only inches away from her now.

"You don't have to go," Emma breathes, "you could…use the guest room."

She addresses that last to Regina's lips, where her gaze appears to have fallen. Regina takes another step closer, leaving them in each other's space. The proximity makes her heart race, and her breathing starts to become shallower.

Emma watches in rapt fascination as Regina's eyes flick down to her lips, before moving up to explore her face. She leans in just the tiniest bit closer, until their breath is mingling, and Emma's heart pounds faster.

Then suddenly Regina shakes her head, staggering back several paces. "I need to go," she chokes out, panic in her eyes. Then in a puff of purple smoke Emma's alone again.

She stares at the spot Regina just vacated, a little dumbstruck. She really has no idea what the hell just happened, only that Regina had seemed as involved in the moment as she herself was. However it might have ended. Regina's expression had mirrored what Emma herself was feeling - desire, anticipation, _care_. Suddenly her mind is spinning with the idea that Regina might actually want her too, that maybe there's hope they could be what she now knows she wants them to be.

Emma rubs a hand tiredly over her eyes, heading for her room and the sleep she so desperately needs.

Maybe there is a possibility for them all to be an actual family after all - Christmas included. She just has to find a way to talk to Regina.


	3. The Clock Tower

Emma's awoken far earlier than her messed up head can be grateful for by the insistent buzzing of her phone as it rings. She sits up dizzily, rubbing at her eyes and cursing when her hand comes away covered in black smudges.

"Shit," she grumbles – and this is why she doesn't wear excessive quantities of makeup, it's always a pain in the ass when you don't take it off.

Her phone keeps buzzing rudely and she throws back the covers, climbing out of bed and feeling sleepily around in the pile of clothes on the floor for her clutch. She finds it and pulls the phone out and her brow creases as she looks at it. She has twenty nine missed calls from Thomas.

It stops vibrating and then starts again almost immediately, a picture of Thomas wiping Alex's vomit off his shirt that Ruby had snapped with her phone flashing on the screen.

"Tom?" she asks as she accepts the call, voice thick with sleep, "What's wrong?"

"Emma, oh my god, where are you? I need you, Emma, I need you to get here."

Thomas sounds positively distraught, words tumbling over each other at an alarming rate, and Emma finds herself panicking at his tone.

"Tom?" she asks again, more urgently this time, "Tom, what's wrong? What's going on – is it the children?"

"No, no it's not that, it's Ash."

"Ashley?" The creases in Emma's brow deepen. "What's she done?"

"She's, God, Emma, she's missing. I don't know where she is!" he chokes out, sounding thoroughly unlike himself.

"Wait, _what?"_

"I don't… she's just, she's just disappeared and I don't know where she is. Emma, what if Murderer has her, what if she's next…"

"Tom."

"…oh god, I can't look after Alex on my own I can't _fuck_ what if she's dead she can't be dead I don't know what I'd do…"

"Tom."

"…if she were dead she's my life Emma, her and Alex, and now she's gonna get murdered for some stupid sacrifice oh my God what am I gonna tell the kid how can I tell her I let her mommy get sacrificed?"

"Tom!" she shouts.

"Sorry," he mumbles, shutting up.

"Good boy, okay, run it down for me," she instructs, standing up and starting to look around her room for a pair of jeans.

He lets out a long breath – apparently trying to calm himself – and then coughs. "Okay," he says, sounding more like he's saying it to himself than her, "okay. I went straight home from the ball after you talked to us and when I got in it was dark, so I figured Ash had gone to bed already. I didn't wanna wake her if she was sleeping and I was pretty nervy after everything that went down last night so I decided to just crash on the couch instead."

"Okay," Emma nods, scooping up a tank top and dumping it on her bed with the jeans she's picked up. "Then what happened?" She moves to sit at her vanity, grabbing a wipe.

"Well I woke up this morning and she wasn't up yet so I went in to see her but she wasn't there and the bed hadn't even been slept in and I looked all around the apartment and then I went to the school to check if she'd gone in for some reason and then I tried Granny's and the bakery and Emma I've looked all over and I can't _find_ her."

Emma hums in understanding, "And when was the last time you saw her?"

"I dunno," he says, sounding frazzled, "must have been not long before I left for the ball."

The blonde frowns, stilling in her action of pulling a cleansing wipe across her makeup-smudged face. "She didn't come to the ball?" she asks.

"No, she hasn't been feeling well."

Emma's heart drops to her stomach. "What?"

"Yesterday, she said she was feeling pretty sick and didn't feel up to coming to the ball," he says, sounding confused as to why Emma herself is.

"Tom, she didn't – she didn't see any of the children, did she?"

"I…no. No she would have said something. But I mean – I saw victims in various stages of illness and she didn't look anything like any of them. She didn't even look that sick."

"She didn't?" Emma puts her phone on speaker and walks back over to her bed, pulling on the clothes she's laid out there.

"No, she… Emma, I don't what's going on but I'm scared, I'm so scared. Please, you've gotta help me find her," he begs, tearfully.

"Okay, look, I'm up and I'm dressed so I'll meet you at the station." She casts a glance to the time – 6:02. "Everyone should be there in about an hour anyway. We'll sort this, okay? We'll find her."

"Okay," he replies quietly, "I'll see you in twenty?"

"See you in twenty," she confirms and then hangs up. She sighs loudly, running her hands over her face in an attempt to wake herself up a little more, then she returns to sit at her vanity, moving a hand to her head, and starts pulling pins out until her blonde hair falls down, messy and curly, past her shoulders. She really shouldn't have slept with it up – but she hadn't nearly had enough presence of mind last night to think about that.

Last night. God, she can't quite believe that last night actually _happened_. The whole thing had been a train wreck from start to finish – and yet the finish had given her hope she hadn't dared have before. She doesn't know what's going on in Regina's head, and wouldn't presume to, but for once in their lives she actually has a feeling it might not be too dissimilar to what's going on in her own.

If only all this other shit weren't going on then maybe they'd even get to talk about it – there's clearly something _there _to talk about– but as it is she can't really concentrate on anything except trying to protect people right now. She doesn't know how well she'll be able to protect people, though, if she's spending the whole day worried about _Regina's_ safety - so with that in mind she picks up her cell and pulls it towards her again. Her finger moving naturally to speed dial five.

"Emma? What's wrong?" Regina's slightly-sleepy voice comes from the phone after a couple of rings.

"Okay, look, I don't really know what happened yesterday. But honestly, for now, I don't care. It's the day after the murder and we don't know what might turn up – so I don't plan on letting you out of my sight."

There's silence on the other end of the line for a minute, then the other woman's voice comes again – much more awake this time. "What about Henry?"

"I'm gonna call Blue and ask her to keep all the children there under their protection." She can't be spending the day panicking for her son, either, but she's hardly going to be able to drag him around with her.

There's another long pause. "I suppose there's not really anything I can say that's going to move you on this subject, is there?"

"Absolutely nothing," Emma affirms.

Regina sighs, "Fine, I'll see you at the station."

"Thank you," Emma lets out a breath of relief and then hangs up – she needs to get over there and see Thomas.

.

.

.

She calls Blue on the way over, confirming that she and the other nuns will keep an eye on all the kids. Thomas is frantic when she gets in, and she's just about started to calm him when Lilly arrives – closely followed by David – and having to tell them simply sets him off again. Ruby arrives next, carrying a tray full of coffees and a bag full of pastries.

"Figured we could all use 'em," she explains simply.

Eventually Jefferson pitches up – looking a little the worse for wear – and Regina last, not even trying to hide the sulk on her features at being ordered around.

A tiny part of Emma wonders why no one questions Regina's presence – but she has far more important things to worry about, so she lets it go.

"The best conceivable plan I see," she says, as they all sit around sipping their coffees, "is to split up and patrol town. Everyone knows that the children carried some kind of virus – granted they don't know it was magic and all that, but they know to stay away if they see them again. That said, we still need to keep an eye – so we'll patrol and look for Ashley, whilst also keeping an eye out for children. Sound okay?"

"Shouldn't someone stay here?" her father asks, but she shakes her head.

"We've all got our cells, I figure leaving someone here's a waste of manpower, all things considered."

They all nod in understanding.

"Okay. Lilly, you go with Thomas; Rubes, you go with David. Jefferson and Regina, you guys are with me. Let's make it back here tonight with everyone safe, shall we?"

Everyone makes noises of agreement as they stand, pairing off and heading out. David shoots her a small smile of encouragement which she returns gratefully.

She's scared, hopefully a lot more scared than she's letting on – because she needs to act as the fearless leader right now. Once the others have filed out, guns in hand, Emma turns to the remaining two. Jefferson's got his head in his hands, looking distinctly queasy, and Regina – Regina's staring at her with something that looks suspiciously like pride on her face. Why, Emma can't imagine, though it's not really relevant right now. It's killing her, being so close to her and not being able to talk properly. She just needs to know what's going on in the other woman's head, if they're on the same page.

The tension in the air between them is tangible, though, and she really doesn't see herself managing to go the whole day without this conversation – so they might as well just get it over with.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Emma asks, and Regina's eyebrow lifts.

"We are talking."

"I meant in private," Emma hisses and Jefferson groans from his chair.

"Yes, please take it somewhere else, guys. It's way too early for banter."

Emma rolls her eyes but walks towards the interrogation room, grabbing Regina by the arm and pulling her along with her.

Regina shuts the door behind them and folds her arms across her chest. She opens her mouth to speak – but Emma cuts her off.

"Regina I…" she falters – it might help if she actually knew what she wants to say. "Why did you leave?"

The brunette's expression turns panicked. "Emma now really isn't the best time for –"

"No it is," she insists, "because I'm gonna be going crazy until I know. So why did you leave?"

"You know why I left," she murmurs but the blonde shakes her head.

"I really don't."

"I left to avoid us making a terrible mistake."

"Oh," Emma thinks on that for a minute, chewing it over in her head. "What kind of mistake?"

Regina rolls her eyes, "What kind do you think?"

Emma doesn't think on that, she just moves – darting forward and pushing Regina up against the door, mouth moving to hers.

She doesn't even register what she's doing until she's done it, and then it's too late to take it back. She moves a hand to cup Regina's cheek, tips of her fingers sliding into her hair. The kiss is sweet, sweeter than she would have thought herself capable of considering all the pent up energy inside her.

It certainly proves enough to make Regina melt.

The other woman pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. She feels Regina's teeth pulling at her bottom lip. Nibbling at it until Emma gasps out from the sensation, and then the brunette's tongue is slipping into her mouth.

Emma's hands move down, sliding around Regina's slim waist and holding the woman closer to her, hands splayed across her back.

They kiss hard, like they can't quite taste enough of each other – and yet not quite as fiercely as Emma might have imagined. The amount they're at each other's throats you'd think they were incapable of softness, and yet when Regina pulls away it's not without pulling several more chaste kisses from Emma's now swollen lips.

"That the kind of mistake you were talking about?" Emma breathes, and Regina stares up at her, expression a mixture of amusement and awe.

"That...didn't feel a mistake," she admits – like that in and of itself is a foreign concept.

"Did you really think it would?" the blonde asks.

Regina nods, wordlessly.

"Gee thanks," Emma chuckles softly, "nice to know you have so much faith in me."

"I thought it would feel wrong," the brunette says honestly. "I always thought that kissing you might feel like doing something illegal."

She frowns. "Why?"

The brunette sighs. "Because of who you are. Because of the way our relationship is. Because...because of Henry."

"Somehow I'm not sure this is something Henry would mind," Emma smirks, mind drifting back to the many times lately that Henry has pushed them together.

"Perhaps not," Regina concedes, and the look on her face makes the blonde think that's where Regina's mind went too. "But there's always the possibility it wouldn't work, and then where would we be?"

"Where we are now," Emma shrugs. "A divorced couple."

Regina raises her eyebrows at her.

"Come on, Regina. You can't deny that's basically what our life is. It's all time shares and complicated holiday arrangements and the occasional joint family dinner."

The other woman smirks at that, "You may have a point there."

"Good to know," Emma grins. "Because that was...sorta a mistake I wouldn't mind repeating again sometime."

Regina looks a little dumbstruck, but her smirk doesn't disappear. "Likewise."

The blonde leans forward again, capturing Regina's mouth with her own for a moment. "Maybe after we've stopped creepy children from invading our town though, yeah?"

"That would probably be for the best," Regina agrees.

They move away from the door, pulling it open again. Emma pauses before she walks through it though – casting a glance back to Regina. "Be careful today – promise me?"

"Emma, they're only children, it's not like we're going into battle," she remarks, mouth twitching into a tiny smile.

"Then why does it feel like we are?" the blonde whispers in response, and Regina's face sobers again.

"It'll be okay, we'll do everything we can to make sure you don't lose anyone this time."

Emma nods. "We have to find Ash, too."

The brunette's expression turns swiftly unreadable. "Yes, well," she coughs, "I'm sure she'll turn up."

Her eyes narrow, superpower senses tingling.

"Regina?" she asks, but the woman leans forward quickly and presses another, open-mouth kiss to Emma's lips.

"We should go," Regina says, "there's a lot to do today," and Emma hums in agreement, a little bewildered by the fact that Regina just kissed her of her own accord. Like it was something normal they did every day.

They walk back round to where Jefferson has finally managed to get himself back upright, and apparently to himself enough to be smirking at them.

"Good talk?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

Emma clears her throat. "Yeah, yeah, good talk."

"Good," he nods, smirk widening into a wicked little smile.

"Well, erm, shall we go?" she asks, grabbing her half empty coffee cup. They both nod and Jefferson pushes himself off the desk, his own coffee clutched in his hands.

He strides forward with much more of a spring in his step than he'd had when he first walked in, strolling towards the door.

"Nice lipstick, Emma," he says sweetly as he passes her, and Emma frowns after him in confusion. She's not wearing lipstick today. She turns to Regina, whose head is slightly bowed, bridge of her nose pinched between thumb and forefinger – she says nothing, but from her expression Emma can only guess she's wondering how she holds any affection for such an idiot.

When she looks up again, the look she shoots her confirms it.

.

.

.

Patrolling is boring and somewhat fruitless for the entirety of the morning. They all meet up at the diner for lunch, exchanging reports – all of which are pretty bland. None of them have found even a hint of Ashley's whereabouts, and as for the children, there haven't been any sightings nor any reports of sightings.

"Maybe they're not gonna come," Ruby shrugs, biting down on a fry, "we don't _know_ that it's all connected."

"The evidence is somewhat irrefutable, dear," Regina replies condescendingly, and Ruby shoots her a dirty look.

"All I'm saying is maybe it's a great big coincidence," she shrugs, snagging another fry from Jefferson's plate when he's not looking.

"No such thing," Regina shoots back quickly, "not when it comes to murder."

The waitress rolls her eyes. "You've been watching too many movies."

"No," Emma chimes in. "No, she really hasn't."

"Well, I guess you'd know, wouldn't you?" Ruby snaps.

Emma opens her mouth to answer when there's a scream from outside the diner, and they all simultaneously jump to attention, springing from their seats and running out into the lazily falling snow.

Emma's out in front, but she stops dead when she sees what's out there – throwing her arms out to stop the others and feeling them knock into her.

There's a child standing across the street, outside Archie's place. The door is covered in long scratch marks, the wood splintered as if sharp nails had been dragged repeatedly down it. Inside, Emma sees the curtain twitch and she digs quickly into her pocket for her cell.

She finds Archie's number with fumbling fingers, and he answers after one ring.

"Emma, I seem to have a bit of a situation," he says on picking up.

She gives a tiny nervous chuckle. "I can see that. Look, Archie, we're gonna do what we can – but whatever happens I want you to lock everything and stay _inside_ okay?"

"No problem," he replies, and Emma nods before hanging up again.

The child outside the door let's out another scream, the sound travelling straight to Emma's bones.

"Let me _IN!_" it wails, scraping its nails down the door again.

"You were saying?" Regina mutters under her breath and Ruby huffs angrily.

"Shut up."

"Guys," Emma warns, "not the time."

They're all stood frozen – unsure as to the best course of action. The child lets out another scream of frustration at the un-opening door and then turns, eyes fixing on them.

"Oh fuck," she breathes as the child starts to walk over. It looks different than the one she saw at Regina's – angrier. Its little fingers are clenched in rage, eyes wild and mad-looking. It looks wrong – the angelic child with such a rabid look on its face.

It's advancing on them quickly, small face set with fury.

Emma doesn't waste any more time thinking – she pulls out her gun and shoots and then the kid disappears in a cloud of black smoke as the bullet hits home.

"What the –"

"Did you kill it?" Jefferson asks.

"No," Regina replies, "I sincerely doubt it."

"So bullets can't kill them," Emma says, looking at her gun with disgust. "Great."

"Looks like they can deter them at least though," Lilly supplies. "That's something."

"They all disappeared after a while last time, didn't they?" Ruby adds. "Maybe if we can just hold them off then everyone will be okay?"

Emma wishes she could be that optimistic, but rolls with it anyway. They don't really have a better plan.

"Okay, everyone back on patrol. Answer your phones, keep your eyes open. Shoot the ones you see. We've just gotta hope we can hold them off."

There's a murmur of agreement and they all split off again. Emma turns to Regina. "Is there anything you can do magic-wise?"

"Not much," she says apologetically, "not without knowing what they are. But I'll do what I can."

Emma nods thoughtfully. "Alright, I think we need to go find another one so you can try – who knows – maybe magic fireballs are more effective against the fuckers."

The other two nod and start moving.

"You know," Regina starts tentatively, "you could always…" she trails off, sounding unsure.

"Always what?"

She doesn't reply so Emma turns to look at her. The brunette's looking at Emma's hands, her own sparking suggestively with magic.

She tightens her jaw. "No way."

"Emma, I understand why you don't want to – you know I do – but it might just be that it's necessary, given the situation," Regina says carefully.

"Regina, I can't – you know I can't."

"I know why you think you can't," she replies, "but for what it's worth, I don't think you need to worry."

Apparently Emma's skepticism is clear on her face because Regina ploughs on, "I'm not going to push you if you really don't want to – all I'm saying is that I think you can handle it. I can help you."

They round the corner and Emma walks straight into Jefferson's back.

"Wanna try that fireball trick you love then?" he asks in Regina's direction, and they both peer round him to see a child approaching, dark curls framing its face, mouth pulled into a sweet smile.

"Will you come play with me?" it asks. "Please, come play with –"

It's cut off by Regina throwing a fireball which consumes it. There's a bitter, shrill scream, and then the flame dissipates and the child's gone.

"Shit, did that – did that kill it?" Emma asks with a grin, and Jefferson steps forward cautiously, inspecting the ground where it stood.

"Well, it's not here," he confirms, "and I didn't see any of that black smoke stuff like when you shot it."

"Now, will you listen to me?" Regina asks smugly, but Emma shakes her head.

"There's nothing you did there that I couldn't do with a nail gun and some butane gas," she scoffs. Regina frowns.

"A flamethrower, Regina," she says, "I could do that with a homemade flamethrower."

"Well, good for you – but my way's much simpler."

"Not the way I see it," Emma grumbles.

"Erm, guys?" Jefferson asks, and both women turn to him.

"I don't care what you use – but you're gonna have to hurry up and decide quickly," he uses his head to point down the street to their right, and they both turn to look.

"Holy fuck," Emma breathes, edging closer to Regina.

The street is crowded, small children wandering up it in their direction – faces set in frightening determination.

"Hide," she spits out, "quick."

The three of them dart round the corner, pressing themselves up against the wall.

"Jefferson, you got your gun?" Emma asks quietly, not taking her eyes off the approaching children.

"Yeah."

"Good, okay," she nods.

"Why?" he asks, sounding like he doesn't want to hear the answer.

"Because you and I are gonna hold them off whilst Regina kills the freaks."

Regina's head snaps to her. "You can't be serious?"

"Well I am. Seriously."

"Emma, there's got to be more than a hundred of them," she whispers incredulously.

"So conjure. A hundred. Fireballs," Emma grits out between her teeth.

"I can't!" Regina hisses, keeping her voice down though she clearly doesn't want to be.

"Why _not_?"

"Because," Regina snaps, "if you'd actually bothered to learn _anything_ about magic you'd realize that it can seriously tire you out – there's limits to everything Emma, even magic."

"But you conjure those up like it's nothing," she insists.

"One at a time, yes."

"So conjure up a hundred one after the other!" Emma whispers angrily.

"And what do you plan to do with the others? Hmm? Get them to wait in line for their turn? We've got no way of knowing what the others will do when one's attacked!"

Emma lets out a frustrated groan. "Then let's find out."

"Erm, guys," Jefferson cautions, but neither of them take any notice.

"Emma, I know you're an idiot – but surely even you can't be suggesting that we just blunder in and try to take on hundreds of children whose mere touch is _deadly_, without even knowing how they react when attacked."

The blonde rolls her eyes. "And do you have a better suggestion?"

"Guys."

"Yes," she bites out. "I suggest we get the hell out of here – instead of embarking on a suicide mission."

"It's not a suicide mission it's a good plan!"

"_Guys_."

"Jefferson and I take out as many as possible shooting and you take out the rest with fireballs – what's wrong with it?"

Regina gives a tiny frustrated scream. "What's wrong is that for all we know, when we attack they'll sprout wings and _fly_."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Regina, that's ridiculous, they're not gonna –"

"_Guys_!" Jefferson shouts and they both turn to him.

"What?" they snap in unison.

"Run," he says and Emma frowns.

"What, why?"

He stands incredibly still. "Because," he hisses, "they might not have wings – but that certainly doesn't seem to stop them _climbing_."

His eyes flicker upwards and both women mirror the movement, freezing where they stand.

There's a child clinging to the gutter on the building next to them, hanging there with an apish agility, eyes fixed hungrily down on them. It tilts its head as it sees them looking at it, mouth pulling into a grin.

"Play with me?" it asks – and then it jumps.

There's a tangled blur of limb as they each try to push each other out of the way. Regina's furthest from where it lands, but Emma and Jefferson are right by it, falling over each other to try and get out of the way – to try and get each other out of the way. They scramble for a second before they both lose their balance and they're falling – right on top of the child.

Emma hears Regina scream her name, but she can't respond, she's completely frozen in panic. She feels her body being pushed, then she's rolling – head smacking the concrete.

She scrambles off the ground, to see Jefferson doing the same.

The child's already back on its feet and Emma reaches for her gun, but it doesn't move towards them – only smiles sweetly. "Thank you," it sing-songs. Then starts skipping away and disappears off into thin air.

She stares after it shell-shocked, then her eyes move to Jefferson.

Regina runs over to her, eyes wide and panicked. "Did it touch you? Emma? Did it touch you?"

She blinks, keeping her gaze on Jefferson, rubbing her head where it hit the ground. "N-no. Don't think so."

"Don't _think_ so?" she demands, voice urgent.

"It didn't," Jefferson says, brushing himself off and coming to stand next to Regina, "she's fine."

There's a sinking feeling making its way down Emma's chest.

"How do you know?" Regina asks, frantic.

"Because it touched him," Emma whispers, not quite processing her own words.

Regina turns to Jefferson, looking startled. "What?"

He his face pulls up into a rueful grin. "Guess you're finally gonna get rid of me, eh?"

They both just stare at him.

"Come on, laugh at the dead man's jokes!"

"I don't think now's really the time. There's still more of them." Regina says flatly.

Emma nods. "We need to get out of here."

The brunette looks around. "Town Hall's not far – we can make it if we run."

Emma hums her agreement, casting a glance upwards. There are children everywhere.

"Run then," she tells them, "_now_."

They move off in unison, and Emma hardly notices that Regina's slipped her hand around hers until they're all barreling into the Town Hall and she moves to barricade to door, only to realize that her hand is firmly clasped in someone else's.

"Erm, Regina?" she asks, and the brunette casts a glance down before snaking her hand back, cheeks coloring slightly.

"Jefferson, you should sit down," she instructs, turning her attention away from Emma.

"What's that gonna help?" he replies sarcastically, "I don't think weird spirit-y viruses go away with a little R and R."  
Regina rolls her eyes. "Suit yourself."

Emma ignores them, pulling out her phone and dialing David's number quickly.

"Emma, we've kinda got a situation over here," he says as he answers, sounding stressed.

"Yeah," Emma laughs, feeling a little incredulous at the predicament, "us too. We've barricaded ourselves in town hall, might have to try wait them out. You guys get inside too – all of you. Get everyone inside. I think fire kills them, so if you can make any then try."

"You got it," David replies, "Lilly and Tom are with us – we'll do what we can."

"Stay safe," she says, then hangs up and turns immediately to Regina.

"I need to know what you can do," she says bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"A hundred simultaneous fireballs is out the question, got it, but what alternatives do you have?"

Regina frowns. "In the fire department – not much really. Fire is fire – you'd do just as well creating your own with matches."

"Okay," Emma nods, "well hey we did that once here before."

Regina looks up at her at the memory. They both know the importance of that day now, and Emma can see it on Regina's face.

"You nearly died for me that day," the brunette whispers.

"Well, I've done all the dying for her today, so hopefully she'll be fine," Jefferson pipes up snarkily.

"You're not gonna die, Jefferson," Emma snaps, "don't be a baby."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did you discover a magic cure you haven't been sharing – or did Santa bring you one for Christmas?"

Regina chokes down a chuckle and Emma glares at her. "Honestly, did you two go to sass school together or something?"

They both share a look, something passing between them that Emma is completely lost by – but she's sort of used to everyone in this town having history with everyone else.

"He dropped out early," Regina replies, turning back to Emma, "I was always a much better student."

"That's because I wasn't there for all the lessons," Jefferson shrugs and Emma frowns.

"Okay, what the hell are you two on about?"

Regina smirks. "Don't worry about it."

Emma opens her mouth, ready to push it further, but then shakes her head – thinking better of it. Priorities, and all.

"_Anyway_," she says pointedly, "there's alcohol here right?"

"Really, Emma, now?"

"Not to drink! I was thinking we could use the alcohol as makeshift bombs and light the fuckers up."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Eloquent as always, dear," she sighs.

"It's a good plan," Emma shrugs in response. Regina crosses her arms, looking pensive.

"I suppose it's the best we've got. I'll do what I can magic wise – but it really depends on how many of them there are – and if, God forbid, they have their own magic. It's one thing turning your father into a squirrel, and a whole other trying to fight an entire battle by myself."

Emma nods. "Okay, anything you can do will help."

"What d'you want me to do?" Jefferson asks.

"Sit there and stay out of trouble," she snaps at him.

He rolls his eyes. "What good's that going to do? If someone's going out there it should be me and Regina."

"Agreed," Regina says quickly.

"Whoa, no way – I'm going out there."

"Emma, I'm a dead man walking – and Regina has the magic juice. Might as well give one of us a fighting chance, shame it has to be you – but dead men can't be choosers," he smirks.

The blonde has to fight down the childish urge to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she just glares.

"How about we all just go out together?" she asks.

"Whatever her majesty wishes."  
"She's a highness not a majesty," Regina points out and Emma raises her eyebrows at her in question.

"You're a princess, not a queen. Only kings and queens get referred to as 'your majesty' everyone else is simply 'your highness'."

Emma just stares at her. "How was that at all relevant?" she asks incredulously.

"Just helping to further your education," she shrugs.

"Right _now_?"

"Well you might not be alive much longer – I figured I should educate you while I can."

Emma's moved forward, encroaching on Regina's personal space. "If I'm gonna die I'm sure there are better things you could be educating me on."

Regina raises an eyebrow, opening her mouth to reply, but Jefferson lets out an exasperated laugh.

"Jesus Christ, would you two just fuck each other already?"

They both turn to him, looking a little scandalized. "What?" Emma asks.

Jefferson rolls his eyes again. "What?" he shrugs, "The tension is killing me over here."

Emma starts replying but Jefferson cuts her off. "Oh shut your pretty little mouth, Swan, I'm tired of pretending I don't know exactly how you idiots feel about each other. I need to make sure that Grace isn't going to end up in the custody of a house exploding with UST. It's really not healthy for a child."

"And Grace is coming to live with us because…"

"Dying, remember?" He waves his hands in the air. "It's really the least you can do for me, all things considered."

Emma blinks. "Wait, _what_?"

Regina, however, seems to be following much better. "You bastard," she breathes, and he grins at her.

The blonde looks from one to the other. "Okay, seriously I am so lost."

"You _bastard_," Regina says again, staring at him.

"Regina?" Emma asks, "Care to explain?"

"He knew."

"Knew what?"

"Knew you wouldn't both get out of the way in time. The idiot sacrificed himself for you deliberately."

Emma's gaze snaps to Jefferson. "_What?_ Why the hell would you do that?"

"Because," he lets out a long sigh, expression turning a little defeated, "Okay Emma look you're…you're kinda like my little sister, okay?" he admits, looking strangely shy at the confession.

"You annoy the fuck out of me, don't get me wrong – but then everyone annoys the fuck out of me so…" he shrugs, "but even if you weren't kinda family – I owed it to Regina, anyway."

She frowns. "You what?"

Jefferson turns to meet Regina's gaze. "I've spent a lot of my life trying to fuck up yours," he admits with a little smirk, "to be fair you've done the same – but I guess I kinda started it. I'd have saved her anyway – but now at least I know that I've done something that'll help make up for the stuff I've done to you."

Regina's mouth falls open, then without warning she surges forward and her palm is colliding with his cheek. Then she wraps her arms around him.

"Hey there, I might be infectious," he jokes, but it falls a little flat.

"Jefferson…" Regina starts, pulling back again but still staring at him.

"Don't you dare get soppy on me, Regina, or I'll lose all my respect for you."

She rolls her eyes. "I wouldn't dare."

He nods, face turning serious. "You'll take care of Grace?"

"Henry wouldn't let me get away with anything else," she affirms.

He turns his gaze to Emma. "You gonna give the dead man a hug too?"

"You're not dead," she snaps.

"Not yet."

"Not ever. We'll find a way."

"Emma," he tries to reason, but she shakes her head.

"No. Just shut up! No one else is dying, okay? Not you, not Ashley – no _one_. Got it?" she shouts.

He rolls his eyes, but nods. "Fine, if we get out of here alive we'll find me a magical cure. Now on that note – do we have a plan your _highness_?"

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"Oh my God, Emma, are you okay?" Snow rushes forwards to greet her as she shuffles through the door to her parents' apartment.

"I'm fine," she reassures her, "just a little scorched is all."

Her mother's eyes widen as they take in her appearance – burn marks all over her clothes, some on her skin, and the tiniest bit of singed hair.

"Come here, let me look at you," she says, hurrying forward and taking Emma's hand – the worst affected area – into hers, "oh, Emma, this is awful. Let me get something for it."

Before she can say anything, Snow's back across the room, rifling through the kitchen looking for things.

"Really, Mary Margaret, it's okay. It doesn't even hurt that much."

Her mother slams her hands down on the counter and Emma jumps, shocked by this sudden change in mood.

"Emma, I realize you like to play hero but that doesn't mean you can be so reckless about your health all the time," she scowls, more anger in her tone than Emma thinks she's ever heard before. If it weren't for what the woman just_ said_, then shock would probably have remained her prevalent emotion - considering this whiplash inducing change of tone. As it is though, she can't quite believe her ears.

"_Playing hero_?" she asks, slamming the door closed behind her and striding over to the kitchen, "Who is it who's been pushing me to step up and take responsibility every goddamn chance she gets?"

Snow huffs angrily, "I wanted you to take responsibility as a leader, not as a martyr, Emma. There's a difference between being a responsible leader and being a reckless one."

"So now I'm reckless for trying to save people's lives?" Emma exclaims, slamming her own hands down onto the counter opposite the other woman. She has no idea why the woman's so angry with her, but she hardly feels it's fair.

"No. You're reckless because you seem to think you're invincible and it's not _healthy_. Look at you!" she laughs incredulously, waving a hand up and down to indicate Emma's singed form. "You look like someone tried to barbecue you! That hand definitely needs medical attention and yet you won't even let me look at it. Please tell me what part of that is responsible."

"If it bothers me, I'll go to the hospital and get it looked at, it's not a _problem_," Emma shoots back.

Snow shakes her head. "What's the point of going all the way to the hospital when I'm offering to look at it right here?" she asks, reaching across the counter to try and grab it.

Emma bristles, jerking it away angrily. "I said it's fine!"

Her mother just stares at her. "_What_ is your problem?"

"What's _your_ problem?" she retorts.

"My problem is that you're meant to be a responsible adult and yet you act like a five year old. My problem is that you won't let me help you!"

"I don't need your help!" Emma shouts back, and then silence falls between them.

"Emma –"

"No," she bites out, "stop it. You don't get to do this. You do not get to pick and choose when to mother me. If you want to help me then help me - but help me with what I _need_."

Snow startles, face taking on a deer-in-headlights expression. "Emma, what are you talking about?"

She lets out a little angry laugh. "Of course you wouldn't know. You don't even notice, do you?"

"I notice that you're being completely unreasonable right now."

Emma groans in utter frustration.

"I also notice that you nearly got yourself killed _yet again_. I mean honestly, Emma, what about Henry? Forget about leadership, what kind of example are you setting as a mother – what kind of mother are you being when you do _this_ to yourself all the time?" her mother asks, folding her arms across her chest.

The blonde just gapes at her, speechless with fury. "What kind of… what kind of mother am _I?_ Are you _serious_ right now? How dare you fucking lecture me on what kind of a mother I am!"

"I dare because I am _your_ mother, Emma! And it's my prerogative to care about what you do to yourself and my grandson!"

"Don't you even talk about Henry, right now," Emma hisses, seething. "You have no right to talk about how that child is parented."

"Emma," Snow says, taking a deep breath, "I am allowed to be worried for my family. I am allowed to not want to see you kill yourself and orphan that child!"

"He wouldn't be an orphan, he'd have Regina!"

"And you think that's enough for him? You think that's enough for _her?_"

Emma blinks in surprise. "What? What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Her mother just shakes her head, giving a disbelieving laugh. "You're unbelievable," she breathes. "Look, Emma, I know that we've been pushing you to step up but this isn't what we meant. We just want you to –"

"No," Emma interrupts, "no, I'm gonna stop you right there where you admitted to knowing you're pushing me. I'm a grown ass woman, I am not your little girl, and this is _my_ life," she spits out. "You're perfectly happy to boss me around and tell me off for being irresponsible but where the hell are you when I need you to just be _mom, _hmm? When I needed a shoulder? I've needed a mom these past few months so tell me – where the hell have you _been_? Why couldn't you just be my mom instead of this fussy bitch who only talks to me to criticize me?"

Snow opens her mouth to reply but Emma throws up a hand to stop her. "No, d'you know what, I don't care about why. I don't care about your excuses anymore, I'm done. I need to go back to the hospital anyway."

With that she turns, marching back across the room and pulling the door open. She casts one quick look back over her shoulder – just long enough to see Snow's shocked and guilt-ridden face – before stomping out and slamming the door shut after her again.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"Come here, let me look at it."

Emma shakes her head, leaning it back against the couch. "It's fine. I ran it under cold water."

Regina sighs, "Emma, it's not a little cooking burn – your hand is scorched. Let me look at it."

The blonde bites down on the sarcastic response she wants to give – because okay, yeah, it actually really hurts. She holds her hand petulantly above her head and hears Regina sigh again before coming to kneel on the floor next to her.

"You really should have let Doctor Whale look at this," she mutters as she starts cleaning of the burnt, red skin, "it's a bad burn."

"Well clearly I don't need him if I have you," Emma shoots back quickly.

"That's not really the point, Emma."

She shifts uncomfortably, pulling her knees up to her chest. "I didn't want to stay in the hospital any longer than I had to," she mumbles.

The brunette looks up at her, eyes sad.

"Emma, he –"

"Don't say it," she snaps, "he's not dead yet."

"Emma, I know you don't want to talk about it but –"

"_No_," the blonde says again, firmly, "we're not talking about it."

Regina sighs, pulling Emma's hand to her and starting to clean it gently. "You should take better care of your hands, you know. I'm getting déjà vu."

There's a pregnant pause whilst they both think about the last time Regina sat and fixed Emma's hands up. There's no way Regina's forgotten the circumstances surrounding that particular incident, nor is it likely that the woman's at all ignorant as to how mention of it will make Emma feel. And that only means one thing really – Regina's pushing her deliberately.

The blonde doesn't feel like being baited though. She can play too. "What's the point in taking care of my hands? Not like anyone has any use for them anyway."

Regina's hands still momentarily around hers, before recommencing in their task of wrapping it. "You have plenty of uses for your hands, Emma. Your mouth too."

Emma sits up, slightly more alert. "Oh, yeah?" she asks breathily.

"Yes," the other woman affirms, "_talking_ about things."

She groans. Serves her right for trying to play Regina.

"I don't want to talk about things."

"Well, you need to.. You can't just pretend that everything's fine – it's not healthy. You need to address it. Everything that happened today, it's –"

"It's _what?"_ Emma snaps, "What is it, Regina? Hmm? A _disaster?"_

She stares the brunette down, eyes wide in anger. "Everything that I set out to do today… I failed. So excuse me if I don't wanna _talk_ about that."

"You didn't fail." Regina smooths her fingers across the back of Emma's gauze covered hand, before gathering everything up and placing it carefully back in her first aid box. It's a pretty extensive kit, honestly, and Emma's sure that it contains much more than it used to. A part of her can't help wondering if she has anything to do with that.

Emma merely laughs, trying to ignore the burn in her throat and growing ache in her heart. "Yeah. Sure."

"Emma," Regina sighs, impatiently, "you didn't fail. Things went wrong, yes, but that doesn't mean you can just shut it out and ignore it. This isn't the time for self-pity, and it certainly isn't the time for denial."

"Self-pity?" Emma asks. "You think that's all this is? You really think I'm that selfish?"

The brunette gives a small half-nod, eyebrows raising in a way that says, yes, that's exactly what she thinks.

Her mouth falls open in shock. "_Seriously?"_

Regina shrugs. "Jefferson's dying and his best friend won't even look at him because she doesn't want to accept it. Of course you're being selfish. Not to mention childish."

"He's not dying!" Emma shouts back, anger rising within her. "We're gonna fix it, we're gonna find something!"

"And what if he dies in the meantime? You don't know how long he's got. So what if he dies whilst you're refusing to see him, and you never _get_ to? How would that make you feel, Emma, honestly?" Regina throws back at her, and Emma grinds her teeth together.

"Stop it."

"You know he might be an ass, but he did save your life – and I'll bet he's scared right now. Really scared," she continues.

"Regina, stop it," Emma growls. She doesn't want to hear this. _Can't_ hear this. Can't talk about it either. Can't talk about how nothing seems to be going right. She's made no progress on the case, is no closer to finding the culprit – and that means there could be countless more deaths in Storybrooke's future. So of course she doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to get out a magnifying glass and start examining what a failure she's been. She doesn't want to talk about the consequences said failures brought.

"You're being selfish."

"Stop." There's emotion clawing up her throat, choking her. She screws her eyes closed against the feel of it.

"There are things that need doing, Emma. You're no good to anyone if you're just sitting here wallowing."

"Regina, please," her voice takes on a note of begging she's not proud of and yet can't seem to help.

"What if next time it's Henry? Would you refuse to see _him_ too?"

There's fire burning her from the inside out, fire that feels like guilt and failure and loss. The claws of emotion scratch at her, ripping her to shreds from the inside out to leave everything exposed and raw.

Emma crumples – but Regina's there to catch her.

The brunette moves quickly, arm slipping around her shoulder and pulling her shaking body firmly into her side – pulling her head to her shoulder just in time to catch the first racking sob.

"And there it is," Regina exhales into the top of Emma's head, fingers stroking gently against her loose hair.

She can't talk for a minute, she's crying too hard, but when she manages to take a breath – the first thing she chokes out is, "Thank you."

Regina simply shushes her, fingers carding through her now disheveled curls. "You need to let it out."

Emma nods against the other woman's shoulder, watching as the tears she dislodges fall onto the soft blue material of Regina's jacket and create tiny dark patches there. This is one of the problems with being stubborn – sometimes she takes it to points where it's a little psychologically disastrous for her. There'd been so many things bubbling within her, so many emotions. There'd been too much happening in her head for her to process or to sort through. She'd known, deep down, that she'd reached breaking point – and yet she's so stubborn that she wouldn't allow herself to actually _break_.

Regina though, Regina had known. Regina had seen through her bullshit to the truth of what she was doing to herself and goaded her into this. Regina's letting her break all over her – and there's not a doubt in Emma's troubled mind that the other woman fully intends to help put the pieces back together once she's let it all out.

But she has to let it out first.

"Fifty-four people," she whispers, and Regina pulls her closer into her side in response.

"Fifty-four people are dying because I couldn't save them."

"No," Regina disagrees, voice firm, "fifty-four people are dying. That's all."

"Fifty-four and Jefferson. Jefferson's _dying_," the last is almost more to herself than the other woman. Trying her best to process.

"Yes, he is," the brunette mutters into her hair, "I'm sorry, Emma."

Emma doesn't respond, merely turns her head completely into Regina's shoulder and bites hard into her lip as another sob shakes her. She reaches out, wrapping her hands around Regina's waist and scrunching them into the material of her jacket. The other woman moves her spare hand to rub reassuringly at the arm around her front.

"We didn't even find Ash."

Emma feels Regina stiffen slightly, momentarily, before relaxing again. "I know."

"God, you should have seen Thomas' face," she cries. "He doesn't know what to do with himself."

"He'll be okay," Regina replies – though this time it's not very reassuring. She doesn't sound at all convinced.

Emma doesn't reply though, instead giving in to her body as a fresh wave of tears takes her. There's no point fighting it at this point – she just needs to let it out. She needs to face everything and accept it, to let her mind process and grieve – both for death and for failure. She just needs to let go for a little while.

So she does, and Regina holds her the whole time.

Long minutes pass where the only sound is that of breathing and Emma's muffled sobs. Regina's hands move across her, stroking, soothing. On her skin they leave a gentle warmth in their wake, but on her mind they're a cool breeze against the fire that was burning her up.

Once the tears finally begin to subside she takes another deep breath and admits, "I had an argument with my mother as well."

"Well that's understandable. She's a very irritating woman."

Emma appreciates the levity, but doesn't quite have it in her to respond to it yet. "She wants me to be this perfect person. To be a wonderful mother and some great leader – only she won't _help_ me with it. She just tells me what to do but won't lend any emotional support. Then she has the nerve to tell me _I'm_ the bad mother."

"You're not a bad mother," Regina responds, "_certainly_ better than her."

Emma sniffs against the tears that are travelling down her face in a glistening trickle. "I just need her to stop _fussing_ me and just be there. Why is that so hard? I know she's good at comforting people because I _see_ it every day. I see her being the kind of mother I used to dream about having. With Henry – hell, sometimes just with kids in her class. Do you have any idea how much that kills me?"

"Does she?" Regina asks pointedly.

"I shouldn't have to tell her. I'm her _daughter_. She wasn't always like this either, it's just since we got back from that godforsaken island all she does is push me around."

"Well, much as I'm loathe to admit it," Regina starts, "I really think that's something you'll actually have to talk through with her."

"I don't even want to look at her right now," Emma spits out, "let alone speak to her. She called me a bad mother. _Her_."

"Then wait a while. Wait until you're ready and then you can talk to her. Alright?"

Emma lifts her head up to meet Regina's steady gaze, left just the tiniest bit breathless by the sympathy and care in them. "Okay."

"Good," she replies, reaching out a hand to wipe away a straggling tears from Emma's cheek.

"I'm sorry about this," the blonde mumbles.

Regina gives a half shrug. "You needed to let it out. I wasn't lying about there not being time for you to wallow."

Emma manages an imitation of a laugh. "Subtle, as always."

The brunette smirks. Then, suddenly, her lips are on Emma's, the touch achingly soft.

Emma responds gratefully, pulling the other woman to her. She's all broken apart and, as she suspected, Regina's now trying to put her back together again – without the cement of denial and self-hatred.

She pulls back again for a second, long enough to look the other woman in the eyes.

"If you ever tell anyone I cried this much, I will end you."

Regina smirks. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Her mouth moves immediately back to Emma's – taking, claiming, as her hands move to the blonde's jacket. She slips it off easily, tugging her tank quickly after it to expose the lean flesh beneath.

The blonde feels herself shiver as Regina's fingers start to dance across her skin, pressing herself forwards into the relief of her touch. Regina moves her mouth down Emma's neck. She nips kisses into the flesh there, pulling a soft gasp from Emma, whose hands move to find Regina's own jacket and push it off her. The blonde nudges the other woman's chin back up with a finger, pressing their lips together again and stroking her tongue lightly across her bottom lip. Then her hands fly to Regina's shirt, stumbling over the buttons in a desperate attempt to get it off her without ripping it. Somehow, she doesn't think she'd get much thanks for that.

Once it's open though, the brunette shrugs out of it easily, pulling Emma close enough that their covered breasts are flush against each other as her hands twist into blonde hair. Emma moans as Regina's tongue slips into her mouth, moving skillfully against her own. Her brain's not quite with her on what's happening yet, happy to sit back and let her body respond naturally to the kisses and caresses across her skin. Her hands move impatiently down to Regina's pants, looking for the fastening, but the other woman's hands reach down to stop her.

"Nuh uh," she breaths in admonishment, biting a kiss into Emma's jawline, "not here."

Emma nods, waiting for the other woman to climb off her before standing too. She slips a hand down to lace her fingers with Regina's, pulling her in for another heated kiss, and Regina's hands move hungrily over the exposed flesh of her stomach. She strokes her own fingers up the woman's back, tracing lines up to where her fingers find the clasp of her bra.

"Upstairs," the brunette encourages, starting to pull Emma out of the living room.

The blonde tightens her hold on Regina's fingers, eyes roaming the already exposed flesh. "By all means - lead the way."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Waking up in Regina's bed is a simultaneously strange and wonderful feeling – or it would be – if yet again she weren't being awoken by her phone ringing.

Regina groans from in bed beside her and Emma's distracted from the ringing for a moment by the fact that Regina's _in bed beside her_. The woman's lying with her back to her, bare skin exposed and looking eminently kissable. Her hands move hesitantly forward, pausing just above her.

"Answer the goddamn phone, Emma," the brunette's voice is muffled by her pillow, but it doesn't carry any less weight.

"Right," Emma nods, retracting her hand and scrambling out of the bed. It's a lot colder than being wrapped up in the sheets with the warmth of Regina's body beside her, and she finds herself shivering. It doesn't help that she doesn't know where any of her clothes are.

She looks around, following the sound of buzzing, until she finds her jeans draped carelessly over a chair. She pulls them off and grabs the cell phone from the pocket, holding the jeans to her in the best attempt at modesty she can muster.

"Sheriff Swan," she answers.

"Sheriff, it's Whale," the doctor's voice greets her. "I was wondering if you could come down to the hospital?"

Emma's heart leaps to her throat. "What – why? God, is it Jefferson? Is he –"

"Jefferson's fine, Sheriff. He's on fluids and we're monitoring him carefully, like all of them. This isn't about that."

"Then what –"

"Ashley Boyd's been found."

She freezes. She doesn't want to ask – but she has to. "Is she –"

"Alive, yes. Though barely – she's in a coma."

Emma's eyes fall shut. It can never just be good news, can it? It has to be mixed blessings.

"Alright, doctor, I'm on my way," she sighs, hanging up. They can talk more when she gets to the hospital.

"Emma?" Regina asks, sounding a little more awake. "Who was it?"

"Doctor Whale. They've found Ashley."  
The brunette sits bolt upright. "What?"

Emma tries not to be distracted by the fact the sheets have fallen down to Regina's waist. She fails.

"They found Ashley," she says again, looking around for the rest of her clothes.

"Well, is she… I mean what did they…is she alive?" Regina asks, as inarticulate as Emma's ever heard her.

"She's alive."

Regina looks almost concerned by this.

"But comatose," she adds.

The brunette lets out a sigh that sounds suspiciously like relief and Emma's frowns at her. "What is it to you?" she asks.

Regina coughs uncomfortably. "Nothing."

That's a lie. That's a real, proper, blatant lie. Emma's lie-detector is screaming.

"Regina?" she presses carefully.

"No." The woman shakes her head. "Nothing, it's just – I know Thomas was worried, and you're fond of Thomas so…" she trails off awkwardly. Emma narrows her gaze at her, it still feels like a lie, but she has to go. They can talk about it later.

She pulls on her panties – which she'd found on the bookcase – and then her jeans, looking around.

"Regina, have you seen my bra?" she asks, confused. The brunette just lifts her gaze upwards, eyebrows mirroring the movement, and Emma follows her line of sight.

Her bra's hanging off the ceiling fan.

"How did you even get it up there?" she asks incredulously and Regina shrugs, smirking.

"I was in a hurry."

Emma grins back at her. "We both were."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Emma's desperately tempted to crawl back onto the bed and capture Regina's mouth with her own. So she does. She walks over and climbs on top of the sheets, hand weaving into Regina's hair and mouth pressing firmly against the other woman's.

The brunette moans into the kiss in a way that makes Emma really sorry she's put her jeans back on, and she pushes Regina's back down against the pillows, shifting so that she can pull the sheet that separates them away and expose the other woman's body to her. She snakes her hands around Regina's legs, just above the knee, and pulls her thighs apart so she can situate herself between them. The brunette's hands move to Emma's jeans, but Emma pulls them away, holding them above Regina's head and moving her mouth to kiss at her neck.

"I thought you were going to the hospital," Regina breathes.

"I am," Emma mumbles into her neck distractedly, "I was… but then you were all naked and alone in here."

"Can't have that, can we?" Regina asks, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Emma lets go of her wrists and moves her hands back to the top of her thighs, pulling at the brunette's legs until they're wrapped around hers, rubbing her jeans against the woman's crotch. Regina gasps, hands moving to Emma's back and pulling her closer against her.

"You tell me." Emma smirks.

She grinds herself against her once more, moving a hand around to scrape her nails teasingly against the top of Regina's inner thigh.

The other woman glares daggers at her, but the way she's flushed and panting wantonly makes it a lot less intimidating than it might be otherwise.

With another wicked smirk, Emma moves off the bed, pulling Regina – still wrapped around her waist – with her.

"Emma, what are you –"

The blonde shuts her up with a kiss as she pushes her against the wall, using it to keep the woman supported in the air.

"Playing out a fantasy," she mumbles, slipping her tongue into Regina's mouth and continuing to grind against her.

She slips a finger down to start stroking Regina's entrance, grinning when the woman's head falls back against the wall. She moves her mouth to the hollow at the brunette's throat and kisses it, darting out her tongue and tracing patterns across the smooth skin there.

"Still want me to go to the hospital?" she grins against her.

Regina shakes her head slightly, breath coming in short gasps as she tries to grind her hips against the finger Emma's teasing her with. "No one's dying right now, are they?"

Emma shakes her head, pressing the finger harder against her and eliciting a moan.

"Then they can wait twenty minutes."

.

.

.

When she finally gets to the hospital she's greeted at the entrance by a Thomas whose brow is set in firm lines. He looks determined, and worried, but the lost look he'd had yesterday is gone – for which Emma is grateful.

"Hey, Tom," she gives him a small smile, "you wanna run it down for me?"

He nods. "Walk with me?"

She nods herself, and falls into step beside him.

"Fred was out jogging along one of the forest paths this morning, said he found her out there just off track. She was out cold."

Emma frowns. "Fred found her?"

"Yep."

Her frown deepens. "Since when does Fred jog?"

Thomas shrugs. "Don't know and don't care. He found my wife. Anyway, he called Whale and they sent a team of EMTs out, brought her back and examined her. Whale says there's nothing he can find medically wrong with her – she hasn't been hurt – she's just in a coma."  
Emma bites on her lip as Thomas leads them into an elevator and pushes the button for the third floor. "So we don't know why she's in a coma, then?"

He shakes his head. "Whale says it's most likely exhaustion – that she's not ready to wake up yet but as soon as she is – she will."

The blonde makes a small noise of understanding. "But there's no diagnosis of anything."

"No. He said that the most probable cause that he can think of is somnambulism – whatever that means."

"Sleep walking," Emma tells him. "Didn't you ask?"

He just stares at her, eyes wide and exhausted. "Emma, I'm not really with it – I'm just happy she's back and in one piece. He told me it wasn't much to worry about and that's all I needed to hear right now."

"Fair enough."

He leads her through a ward and into a private room, where Ashley's lying unconscious but clearly unscathed on a hospital bed, chest rising and falling evenly. He moves to sit in the chair by her bedside, eyes casting furtive glances over her – as if he's worried she might disappear again.

"He says we've just gotta wait," he mumbles, keeping his eyes on his wife, "that's all we can do now."  
Emma nods absently. "Well, after yesterday we've got a lot to do here anyway. You sit with her, Tom. We'll be around," she tells him softly and he looks up just long enough to shoot her a grateful smile.

"Thank you."

She returns the smile. "No problem – I'm just pleased she's okay."

.

.

.

She spends most of the morning working with Lilly and Whale to make a catalogue of everyone who's reporting being touched. They've cleared a floor and put them all together, all on fluids, so they can be monitored carefully. Emma's determined there has to be something they can do this time.

They compare notes from all the previous victims, but there doesn't seem to be much of a pattern between who died quickest. Some of the last to go were adults verging on old age – some were teenagers, like Hannah. There's a mix of genders as well, so it can't be that.

"There has to be something," Emma says, glaring at the piles of charts in front of her.

Lilly rubs at her temples, brow creased. "But what? Emma, we've looked for every common factor and there isn't one – not age, or sex, or weight, or blood type – there isn't anything."

The blonde bites on her lip, thinking. Eventually it hits her. "What if it's not something in the charts?"

Lilly frowns simply deepens. "What?"

"What if the common factor isn't something that would be written down, what if it's…" she trails off, mind working as she pulls a chart towards her.

"Andrew Peters," she recites, "sixty-eight years old and overweight, but one of the last to die. What do we know about him?"

The redhead leans back in her chair, folding her arms. "Not much – he wasn't really a big player in town. Worked at the school teaching second grade."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "That must be a pretty tiring job, right?"

"Right," Lilly nods with a tiny confused smile, "six to seven year olds can be a complete nightmare."

Emma drums her fingers against her leg, mind working fast. "Okay…" she pulls another of the charts marked in green – the last to die – towards her.

"Andrea Weiss," she winces at the name, guilt flooding through her in the knowledge she'd ignored the other woman's request for help to save Regina. Then again, if she hadn't then Regina would almost certainly be dead by now – and she finds she really can't feel too guilty about that.

"I know her," Lilly nods, "she was one of the people involved in the gassing incident."

Emma bristles – there's that as well. Andrea had been one of the only three surviving members of the group of nineteen that tried to kill Regina by gassing her shortly after their return from Neverland. Thankfully for Regina, the plan had backfired and most of them had ended up dying of carbon monoxide poisoning – but those that had escaped had been quick to swear they'd never go near the ex-mayor again. Emma had never really forgiven any of them though.

"Forty-six," Emma reads from the chart, "no family."

"She works at the gym," Lilly supplies, "I see her in there a lot – she's a trainer."

A theory's beginning to take hold in Emma's brain. "Give me another one," she says eagerly – and Lilly hands her a chart.

"Jake Lambert," she says, and something flashes in Lilly's eyes, Emma saddens too, "twenty eight," she reads quietly.

"Worked as a fisherman," the redhead supplies in a similar tone, "was involved in all sorts of charity work. Happiest guy you'd ever meet."

"Next one," Emma says, and Lilly gladly hands her a chart, "Hannah Montague," she reads sadly. "Sixteen."  
"Good kid," Lilly nods, "worked in her dad's bakery, did sailing with me, was on the girls' soccer team."  
Emma's mouth pulls into a smile, despite her sadness over Jake and Hannah. "Lil, I think I might be on to something."

Lilly raises an eyebrow in question.

"Okay," Emma starts, feeling excitement that, for once on this goddamn case she might actually be getting somewhere, "so Andrew was kinda old and overweight, right? But he taught young kids – so he must've been a pretty enthusiastic kinda guy. Andrea was a personal trainer – also pretty energetic. Jake was one the most upbeat people I ever met and Hannah – to be doing all the stuff that she did and still be as happy as that kid was she must have run on sunshine – d'you see it?"

Lilly frowns. "I erm…think so?"

"It's _energy_," Emma grins, sure now she's said it out loud, "not necessarily fitness – but being an energetic person. An animated person. All the one's died last –if they were like Hannah and Jake then they'll have been the ones with the most _life_ in them. The one's that lasted longest were the ones that had the most energy."

She jumps from her chair and runs out of the room.

"Whale?" she shouts as she runs down the hall, a nurse behind the reception desk looks at her like she's crazy, and she turns to her.

"Where's Doctor Whale?" she demands urgently.

"I don't –" the nurse starts and Emma cuts her off

"Page him. Now."

The nurse looks angry but does as she says. "He's on his way," she replies a moment later.

Emma bounces on the balls of her feet, only then noticing that Lilly's caught up to her.

"That was pretty cool," she admits with a smile.

Emma grins. "It makes sense though, right? You agree with me?"

The redhead looks a little pensive, but nods. "It's certainly the only connection we've been able to make."

The blonde takes a deep breath. Lilly might be skeptical – but she's sure. For once, she's really sure she's right on this. Whatever's happening to the people the children touch – it's about energy.

Whale comes round the corner, looking serious. "Sheriff," he greets, "I'm glad you paged."  
"Whale!" She runs over to him. "Glucose!" she shouts, and his brow creases.

"Sheriff I'm not sure I –"

"Glucose," she repeats, "Sugar! Give them sugar!"

The doctor's frown deepens. "Who?"

"All the infected people – you need to give them sugar, maybe a large dose of B12. You gotta keep their energy up!"

"What did you find?" he asks, looking to Lilly and back to Emma again.

"Nothing," she says, "there was nothing in the charts – no obvious connections. But we looked at the ones who lasted longest and they were all people who were pretty energetic in life – and I think that's why lasted longer," she tumbles over her words, and he nods, starting to understand.

"So you – what – want me to keep them on a permanent sugar-spike?"

"Yes, no. I don't know," she shakes her head, "I don't think it's even just about physical energy. They might need mental stimulus as well – just, you need to keep their energy levels up, okay?"

He nods again, looking a little skeptical but seemingly on track with her. "Epinephrine," he says thoughtfully, "if anyone starts looking really ill we could try giving them a dose of epinephrine."

Emma grins. "That's what I'm talking about. See? We can do this, we can keep them alive – at least until I find something else."

Whale nods again. "I'll get some nurses on it, maybe if we asked family members to come in and talk to them, play games with them or something. Anything that might help keep their minds awake."

"Perfect," Emma lets out a breath of relief. This could work, this could really work.

Whale gives her a pat on the arm. "Nice work, Sheriff. We'll start straight away and see how it goes. In the meantime though – Ashley's woken up."

The blonde's eyes widen. "What? Why didn't you say so?"

He just stares at her, eyebrows raising.

"Right," she nods, "sorry. Anyway, Ash is awake?"

"Yes," he replies, expression turning serious again, "and she's asking for you."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

When she gets upstairs, the curtain in Ashley's room is drawn – and Thomas is standing outside looking furious.

"Tom?" she asks as she approaches. "What's going on?"

He turns on her, looking angrier than she's ever seen him. "She won't talk to me," he grounds out, "only you."

Emma startles. "But –"

"Don't ask," he snaps. "I don't know why – but if there's something wrong, I wanna know what it is so just get in there and help her, would you?"

The blonde's a little shocked by the outburst, but nods, moving to knock tentatively on the door.

"Who is it?" Ashley's voice asks – harsher than Emma's heard it before.

"It's me, Ash, it's Emma."

"Oh. Come in."

Emma shoots Thomas a quick, apologetic look, and then walks in – shutting the door again behind her.

Ashley doesn't really look herself either, sure there's no obvious signs of illness – she's not even pale – but she still looks a little _off_.

"Heya, Ashley," Emma smiles carefully, coming to stand at the end of her bed, "you know you all had us really worried for a second there."

Ashley smiles softly. "Thanks."

"So," Emma starts, feeling distinctly awkward, "you wanted to see me?"

The girl shifts on the bed, looking about as uncomfortable as Emma feels. There's something so not right about her, though Emma can't put a finger on what it is. All she knows is that she's no longer sure that Ashley didn't come out of whatever happened quite so totally unscathed. "I need to talk to you," she admits.

"Not Thomas?" she ask gently.

Ashley shakes her head aggressively. "I can't… I can't tell him this."

Emma feels her brow start to crease slightly, and she moves to take the seat by Ashley's bed.

"Alright, well, you know you can tell me anything? You're safe," she reassures, putting a hand over Ashley's, careful to avoid the IV.

The girl nods, looking down at her lap.

"Ashley?" Emma asks, cautious. "Does this have anything to do with the murders?"

She shrugs, eyes still fixed on the blanket across her, and Emma sees a tears roll down her cheek. Emma strokes her thumb reassuringly across the back of her hand. "It's okay, you can tell me."

Ashley sniffs. "I don't know if it's anything to do with the murders," she starts, "but I did something… and I don't know why but I did and now I can't face him."

Her eyes flicker to the curtained glass, outside of which Thomas is no doubt standing.

"Okay, Ashley," Emma sighs. "Start from the beginning."

**.**

**.**

**.**

_Ashley Boyd's life is pretty perfect. She has a husband who loves her, a beautiful daughter, and a job she loves. So she doesn't know why, one day in the middle of November, she wakes up with a craving. It doesn't make sense – but no matter how she tries, she can't shake it off._

_She tries to go about her day as normal – making breakfast for her family and sending them both off to the Sheriff's station, getting dressed and going to work like normal – like her mind isn't elsewhere._

_It doesn't get any better though. She keeps telling herself that it'll be fine, that when she gets home and sees her family again everything will go back to normal – but then Thomas calls and says he'll be home late, that Ruby's watching Alex – and she finds herself alone in her house. No distractions, just a craving._

_So she goes into her room, she changes, and then she leaves again – driving across town to a house few people drive to and knocking on the door. She finds herself relieved when it opens, and she doesn't stop for pleasantries, simply reaches inside and takes the stunned brunette woman's face in her hands, kissing her._

_The other woman is confused, protests, but then Ashley pulls off her woolen hat to let her blonde curls loose, and a look of longing passes over the other woman's features. Her guard goes down and she lets Ashley kiss her again, and again, until she pulls them both into her study and shuts the door firmly behind them._

_The next day Ashley isn't disgusted with herself, as she thought she'd be, but proud. The craving's gone and she feels satisfied. If anything, it's the other woman who seems more upset about it. She leaves, a spring in her step, and doesn't look back._

_They don't talk about it again – they don't talk at all – and they both seem happy with that arrangement._

_She finds herself feeling distant from her family though. She doesn't crave anything new, but neither does she crave them. She feels somewhat alone, like she's drifting, and that's when the sleepwalking starts._

_She finds herself waking up in the middle of the forest late at night, running home and showering off all the evidence, crawling back into bed before Thomas even realizes she's gone. He doesn't even notice anything's off – too distracted by the strange murder case that's whipped the town into panic._

_She starts to get headaches, blinding pain in her head like someone's sitting inside with a little hammer – trying to get out. On the day of the ball her headache's so bad she can barely move. She waves it off – doesn't want Thomas hanging around her any more than absolutely necessary. Then he's gone and she's alone and she finally manages to get some sleep._

_When she wakes up again, it's in a hospital bed, desperate for her husband and her baby girl, ashamed to realize what she's done to them._

.

.

.

Emma sits there, mouth hanging open in shock, stomach twisting violently.

"You see why I can't face him?" Ashley asks, twisting the blanket between her fingers.

Emma shakes her head, feeling a little dazed. "No… no, you should."

Ashley's eyebrows skyrocket. "I can't! I can't tell him, it'll break his heart."

"So don't tell him," Emma replies simply, trying to keep anger out of her tone.

Ashley looks shocked by the suggestion, but Emma ploughs on, "Ash, I don't think you can be blamed. Whatever happened, I don't think it was your fault. I don't think you were in your right mind. That happens, you know? It's called a fugue state – sometimes you can't even remember what happened while in it – but you can't be held responsible."

"But," she frowns, "but I can't lie to him about this."

"Look, did it mean anything to you?" Emma asks – probably a little sharper than she should have.

Ashley shakes her head. "No…I mean, it was fun." Emma's fists clench. "I remember it being fun – oh god, does that make me a terrible person?"

"No," Emma says quickly, blankly. "No, it doesn't."

"And it really didn't mean anything – I didn't even know why I was doing it."

"Then does it matter?"

Ashley frowns a moment longer. "I guess not."

"Exactly," Emma nods. "Talk to your husband, Ash, he's worried about you. I have something I've gotta do – but I'll be back if you need me, okay?"

She looks up, giving her a small smile. "Okay – and, erm, thank you."

Emma tries her best to return the smile. "No problem," she hopes her voice doesn't betray that it is.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

"You bitch," Emma spits out as Regina opens the door. She strides in past the stunned woman and waits for her to shut the door behind her before turning on her again.

"You complete and utter bitch."

"What?" Regina's face has fallen, brow furrowed.

"Don't you dare fucking 'what' me. I just spoke to Ashley," she spits out, trying to ignore the way that the stunned, kicked puppy look on Regina's face just makes her want to hug her.

"Oh."

"Yeah 'oh'. Were you ever going to tell me?"

The brunette folds her arms across her chest, collecting herself a little. "It didn't really concern you."

"Didn't… Regina, she is _married_. To one of my deputies, one of my _friends_," she yells.

"That still doesn't make it your business," the woman replies defensively.

Emma scoffs. "It does if she wasn't in her right mind!"

"What?" Regina snaps, irritation and confusion twisting her expression.

"She didn't even know what she was doing – way she tells it, she just woke up one morning with a fucking craving. For _you_."

"Emma, what are you talking about?"

"She's been having headaches and sleepwalking and just generally not been with it this last month or so."

Regina pales. "Headaches?"

Emma sighs in frustration. "Yes, headaches, that's what I said isn't it?"

"What kind of headaches?"

The blonde shakes her head – unsure how that's at all relevant.

"She said it felt like someone was hammering inside her head."

"Oh god," Regina's eyes widen, then she buries her head in her hands. "Oh _god_."

Emma frowns, feeling certain she's missing something. "What? What is it?"

"She was possessed," Regina mumbles into her hands, "or enchanted." She lifts her head again. "Probably enchanted."

Emma merely stares at her. "Why would someone do that?"

Regina shakes her head absently. "I don't know," she shrugs, "it doesn't make any sense to me."

The blonde stands there, thinking.

She doesn't want to state the obvious, because she doesn't want to face the doubt it's making stir her stomach. But at the same time it is, sort of, _the_ _obvious_.

"Regina," she starts carefully, "how do you _know_ she was enchanted?"

"I recognized the symptoms," the other woman replies – as if it that should already be apparent.

"How?"

"The same way that I recognize the ingredients of a summoning spell," she retorts, sounding unimpressed, "I know about magic."

"The symptoms I gave you are symptoms of lots of things."

The brunette's brown creases "One of which is enchantment. Emma, I'm not lying to you."

"I know you're not, it's just..."

"Just _what_?" she asks.

"Well… you got to that conclusion rather fast," Emma states cautiously.

"I…" Regina falters. "Emma, what exactly are you implying?" she asks tightly.

Emma doesn't answer. She doesn't _know_ – all she knows is that facts are starting to resurface in her mind, little snippets of information she'd filed away to not think about. She trusts Regina, she has for a long time now. But through that trust she's somehow started to ignore things, things that she'd never have ignored before.

.

_She's talking to Regina in her office, and the woman wants to make absolutely sure Henry knows she's innocent – despite suspicion never being on her in the first place. Emma asks if there's something going on and Regina says no. Emma's lie-detector pings._

_._

_She's talking to Obie, but he sees someone behind her that frightens him so much he runs away. She turns and sees Regina._

_._

_She turns to look for Regina again, but the woman's completely disappeared, and then the lights go out and there's a dead body on the floor._

_._

_She's desperately trying to get Regina away from the child, a child she's sure is bad news. But just as she moves there's a moment when she's positive she sees their hands brush – that she sees the child's small fingers pass across the longer line of the brunette's. Regina doesn't get sick though, not like everyone else – and Emma tells herself she didn't see it after all._

_._

_She's listing the ingredients of a summoning spell unknowingly – but Regina knows immediately – even though apparently that's not her brand of magic._

_._

_She's walking out a door Regina walked out of mere minutes before, but the woman's absolutely nowhere to be seen, and then there's another dead body, hanging from a chandelier. This one quite clearly put there by magic._

_._

_She's standing in the interrogation room, talking about Ashley, and Regina's reaction makes the lie-detector within her flare again. She tries to pursue it but the woman silences her._

_._

_She says Ashley's found, alive, and Regina looks worried – not happy. The woman hears she's unconscious and she looks relieved. It's that way round, and Emma's lie detector screams for her to see it_.

.

"Oh my god," Emma gasps, feeling sick, "oh my god."

"Emma?" Regina asks carefully, moving to step towards her but Emma takes a step back.

"Regina, what were you doing when the murders happened?" she asks, voice quiet and shaky.

The brunette gives a short, incredulous laugh. "Emma, you're not seriously –"

"Where were you?" she asks again, voice stronger this time. Angrier.

"Why?"

"Because I saw you a few minutes before both of them – and then you disappeared right before the lights went out," she says carefully, gaze hard, "so I'm gonna ask again – where were you?"

A strange symphony of emotion plays out on Regina's face – ranging from angry and scandalized to hurt and betrayed. Eventually, after a long moment, the emotion that settles in her dark eyes is confusion, laced with sheer unadulterated terror.

"I don't… Oh my god, I don't know," she whispers.

Emma can't quite breathe. "What?" she hisses out.

Regina shakes her head, eyes wide and panicked. "I don't know, I… I can't remember."

The blonde closes her eyes, fists clenching. This is not happening.

"You _don't_. _Know_?" she asks slowly.

"No."

Emma suddenly finds she doesn't believe it, like the curtain's come crashing down to reveal the workings of deception. She feels played.

"You can stop pretending, Regina," she snaps, opening her eyes again to stare furiously at the woman.

Regina stares back, looking even more confused than before. "Emma, I –"

"No!" she shouts, backing away. "Stop it."

She doesn't listen, taking another step forwards instead. "Emma, you can't seriously believe that I –"

"Obie _saw_ you," she chokes out, battling the urge to cry – because the more she thinks about it, the more it makes a horrible kind of sense. "Didn't he? That's why he was so scared – because he saw you and he knew what you were going to do."

"No." Regina shakes her head fiercely, eyes damp and pleading. "Emma, _no_, you have to trust me, I –"

"Trust you?" she screams, eyes blazing as she stares at her. "How the hell am I supposed to trust you when I know that you _slept_ with Ashley? While she was _enchanted_."

Regina's face falls. "Emma," she chokes out, "that wasn't… It was a mistake. I didn't _know_. I was just lonely and she was there, and she _wanted _me and, god, she looked enough like you that I…" she closes her eyes, trying to control her breathing. "Emma, it was a mistake, and I'm _sorry_, but that's all it was."

The blonde shakes her head. "Then why don't you remember the murders? How am I supposed to trust you if you can't even tell me where you _were_?"

"I…" Regina looks lost. "I don't know. Maybe I was drunk, or maybe I just blocked it out I don't know but Emma, I didn't _do_ this."

The other woman has advanced on her, backing her up against the door.

The blonde shakes her head. She's so confused – because her heart, her heart is telling her she couldn't have misjudged Regina _that _poorly. But her brain is telling her that there's a disconcerting amount of evidence that the woman was at least involved. With Gold away, Regina's the only person she actually knows of in town with the power to do this anyway. Of course she doesn't want to believe it, and there's a part of her that just _can't_. But the logical, sensible part of her is yelling that evidence doesn't lie.

"Emma," the other woman's looking at her, expression sincere and pleading, "you have to believe that I had nothing to do with this."

She bites her lip, shaking her head. "I…I don't know. Regina, I don't want to think you're behind it –"

"I'm _not_."

"But even if that's the case – what if you still did it? What if you were enchanted too? What if that's why you can't remember?"

"Then it wouldn't be my fault!" Regina exclaims.

"I know," Emma nods, "I know that but…but, god, you'd still have been the one that _did_ it."

"Emma," Regina takes her face in her hands, forcing her to look at her, "please," she leans forward and kisses her softly, pleadingly.

Emma closes her eyes into the kiss for a second, then jerks her head to the side – breaking the contact.

"Stop," she whispers, "just stop I… I need some space to think about things."

She tries to ignore the way Regina looks like her heart is breaking in her chest. She's allowed to be angry – for all she knows the woman's just playing her. Not that she does know, she's just so confused.

"Emma, I didn't do this," Regina insists again, and the blonde sighs.

"Maybe you didn't. And maybe you did and you've been playing me for a complete fool this whole time," she whispers, meeting her gaze sadly, "but either way, you still slept with Ashley. You've still been lying to me about things. So until I've sorted everything out in my head, I just… I can't be near you."  
She reaches behind her and pulls the door open. "I'm gonna go pick up Henry," she says. "Don't come over."

She ignores the devastation on Regina's face, and pretends that she doesn't see tears spilling out of her brown eyes. She's angry, so angry, because a part of her feels certain she's being played. Then there's the other part of her – the part that's convinced she's just been the biggest bitch in the universe.

The problem is that she just doesn't know which part to trust.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Regina does as she's asked. She doesn't contact Emma at all. Doesn't come over, doesn't call, doesn't even text. It's the most respectful the woman's ever been over boundaries, and Emma finds herself constantly wondering if she might have gone too far – if she's truly broken her bridges with her. Then another part of her brain reminds her that it's altogether possible that the woman's still up to murderous habits and has been playing her this whole time.

It's sort of an impossible situation.

"God, stop moping, would you? I thought you were supposed to be keeping me happy."

Emma looks up from her seat on the hard, plastic hospital chair. She gives Jefferson a half smile – as much as she can manage. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just stop doing it. Or at least tell me why you've been walking around looking like a kicked puppy all week."

"I'm just worried about you," Emma lies. She is worried about him, of course, but she also can't stop wondering about Regina. She hasn't told anyone else – knowing that if any possible suspicion got out she'd be done for. A lot of the people in town would jump on the idea of her as perpetrator without a second thought.

"Bullshit, Emma," Jefferson snaps, "tell me what it really is."

"I can't," she whispers, throat feeling tight, "I'm sorry. It's just something I have to figure out on my own. It might be nothing… I hope it's nothing," she adds in a tiny voice.

The man in the hospital bed gives a long sigh. "Okay, that's it. Your visiting time is up today."

The blonde startles, brows pulling together as she looks at him in confusion. "You're kicking me out?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "Because you're boring me. And bringing me down. You're the one that said we need to stay all upbeat and full of energy, weren't you?"

"Well, yes," she admits, still a little confused.

"Well, right now you're a total mood killer, so I either need you to cheer up or leave me alone. Send the monkey in to see me – she's much more fun."

Emma frowns, casting a furtive glance over the man's graying skin, the hollowness of his cheeks. "You sure that's a good idea? You're not looking so hot."

"That's exactly why I need to see her," he sighs. "Either she's going to keep me going and I make it until you figure out how to stop this – or else I'm gonna die anyway, in which case I'd like to spend as much time with my daughter as possible."

Her mouth twitches into a sympathetic smile. "I'll bring her down."

"Thank you," he sighs, and Emma stands to leave.

"Tell her to bring the lightsabers," he adds as she moves off.

"You're meant to stay in bed," she reminds him, unimpressed.

"Then tell her to bring something for us to play that I can play in bed," he frowns, "that sounded a bit weird didn't it?"

Emma can't help a tiny chuckle escaping her throat. "Definitely sounded weird."

"Board games," he says, "tell her to bring board games."

"Will do," she smiles, a little brighter than before.

.

.

.

"I got you two for the price of one." Emma manages a grin as she watches Grace bounce onto her father's bed, Henry not far behind her. "Figured you wouldn't mind – and I need someone to watch him."

"I'm dying and you're passing off your babysitting duties on me?"

"Since the babysitting duties might help delay the dying, I'd think you'd be pleased," she shoots back easily. Seeing Henry has cheered her up at least.

"Touché."

"Lilly's gonna come by and pick them up later. I'm going back to the station – that alright?"

"I'm sure I'll survive," he replies, and she almost smiles. Then their eyes meet and she sees the joke in his features. Emma hates that he's so accepting of this – but then she's stumped as to what else she can do for him, so maybe it's for the best. In some horrible, twisted way.

"Do your best," she replies, a command in her voice that – considering she has nothing else to help him – she probably doesn't have the authority to put there.

Jefferson just shoots her another quick smile, turning back to Grace and Henry and the assortment of things they've brought with them.

Emma can only hope that it's all enough for now.

.

.

.

"How are things at the hospital?" Thomas asks as Emma throws her jacket at a chair. It misses, skidding across her desk instead and dislodging various pieces of paperwork. She stares after in disgust, too tired to do anything about it.

"We've lost three more so far today," she sighs.

"How many does that make it then?"

"Eleven."

"Well, that's…" he trails off, "not as bad as it could be?"

Emma lets out a little incredulous chuckle. "I really hope that's not all we have to look forward to anymore. 'Not as bad as it could be'."

"This won't go on forever, Emma," Thomas reassures her, and she smiles. She's pleased that no harm appears to have come to Ashley – both for the girl herself and her devoted husband. Thomas is a good guy, he deserves happiness.

"I hope you're right. I just wish I knew how to stop it."

"Without knowing who's behind it that's a little difficult." Emma stiffens, guilt swirling in her stomach. She doesn't know who's behind it, because if she did that would mean it was Regina. And it's _not_ Regina. As the week's gone on she's become more determined to believe it. She still feels sick over the idea that the woman might be somehow involved – but behind it? No. She can't be.

"That's why we need to keep working on finding out who is," she tells him, "that's the only way we can put this thing to rest."

"What d'you want to do then?"

"I don't know," Emma groans, "it's hardly like we can interrogate the whole town."

There's a pause, then Thomas opens his mouth. "No, Tom," she shuts him down, "we can't."

He lets out a little harrumph, slumping back in his chair. "I don't see what other options we have."

"Even if we did – which we are _not_," she adds before he can say anything else, "what would we even ask them? If they're in league with a bunch of creepy children and enjoy the occasional sacrifice in their spare time? Whoever's behind this is clever – they're not going to be caught by an interview."

"Anyone can be caught by an interview if you ask the right questions," Thomas disagrees.

"I don't think they can. Not people like this. They're clever – I mean, for god's sake they've been about five steps ahead of us the whole time."

Thomas's mouth presses together into a firm line, eyes narrowing in apology. "Maybe more like six."

She laughs. It's ridiculous, but it's also true.

"What if it's not even someone living in town?" he asks then. "What if whoever's behind it is in hiding?"

Emma thinks on that for a minute, but then shakes her head. "I doubt it. As I said, they're clever. They probably don't think they need to hide."

"Well, it's hardly like they're strutting around town gloating about it, is it?"

"No," Emma muses, "they wouldn't draw attention to themselves. They just wouldn't actively hide."

"But why does that mean we couldn't catch them in interrogation?" Thomas insists, uneager to let it go.

"Because they're smart. If we arrested them and interrogated them they'd probably just go into surrender mode. They'd come off as innocent and helpful, like solving this is important to them."

"And an innocent person would act like that too, right, got it," Thomas nods, "but can't you use your superpower on them or something?"

Emma bristles. "It's not that reliable."

"I thought you always said –"

"It won't work," she shoots back impatiently, "believe me."

He throws his hands in the air in frustration. "Fine, if you say so. I'm just trying here."

The blonde tries to soften her expression slightly. "I know you are. I'm sorry, Tom."

"It's okay," he shrugs, "we're all stressed."

She shoots him a small smile, and then stands, finally going to retrieve her jacket.

"I think we just need to brain storm. Think of any criteria we're looking for and see if we can't narrow down a suspect pool from it. It's vague, but it might just give us more of an idea of who we're actually looking at – rather than just the kind of person we're looking for."

Thomas hums in agreement. "Sounds like a plan. David coming in today? He might be able to help."

Emma coughs uncomfortably. She's hardy spoken to her father since her argument with Snow – and she hasn't spoken to _her_ at all.

"Not sure," she mutters, "but for now we'll just have to do this ourselves."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

Trying to profile the whole town had proven a pretty exhausting task. It had also proven to Emma that she knew pitifully few of Storybrooke's many residents. A couple of names had popped up, which she and Thomas had both agreed might be contenders, but they were only slight possibilities. No one they know really seems the type for ritual murder.

When Emma eventually gets in, it's to find Henry and Grace absolutely slaying Lilly in a lightsaber battle.

"Emma!" the redhead greets in relief as she walks through the door, "I could use a little help over here."

Emma laughs. "Nah, I think you're doing okay on your own."

Lilly's eyes widen in comic betrayal just before she's backed completely into a corner – two plastic lightsabers at her throat.

"Okay, okay – I surrender!" she puts her hands up, letting her own weapon fall to the ground with an echoing crash.

"Yes!" Henry and Grace cry out in unison, high-fiving each other. "Ice cream for dinner!" then they turn and run for the kitchen.

Emma raises her eyebrows. "You gambled dinner on the match?"

Lilly nods apologetically. "My mistake – you can tell them no."

Emma smirks, "Nah, a dinner gamble has to be honored no matter what – besides, I don't think it'll do them any harm today."

Lilly frowns. "Not good then?"

Emma shakes her head, expression sobering. "They've lost three more today."

The redhead's own expression darkens. "How's Jefferson?" she asks in a conspiratorial tone.

Emma closes her eyes, trying to dispel images of her friend's graying skin.

"Shit," Lilly breathes, "that bad?"

Emma opens her eyes to look at her again. "Lil, I don't know how much longer he's gonna last," she admits, and the other woman puts a comforting hand on her arm.

"It'll be okay, Emma. We'll find something. I promise you won't have to watch him die."

The blonde runs a hand through her hair despondently. "God, I hope not."

"You won't," she says firmly, and Emma gives her a grateful smile

"Thank you – and thank you for babysitting," she adds.

"Anytime." Lilly smiles, walking across the room and grabbing her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, Em."

"Yeah see you," she calls after her, walking into the kitchen to find Henry and Grace sitting on the floor with a pint pot of mint choc chip and spoons.

Henry looks up at her sheepishly. "Hey, Emma," he mumbles around a mouthful, "I made dinner."  
.

.

.

After an incredibly nutritious dinner of ice cream and cookies, Emma turfs both kids into the backroom to watch a movie, falling heavily onto the couch and lying there staring at the ceiling.

She hears the dim hum of the Star Wars theme drift out to her and feels her eyes begin to prick with tears.

This isn't how it's meant to go.

Jefferson isn't meant to die, and she isn't meant to be sitting on her couch crying alone. It's suddenly hit her – these last few days – how disgustingly dependent she is on Regina for comfort. For months now her son's other mother has been the one person to nurse her through all ills – both physical and mental. She's been there to hold her hair back when she's drunk and vomiting (yes, occasionally on her father's shoes), she's cleaned her wounds and fed her vegetables and held her whilst she cried. She's been picking her up off the ground and patching her back together constantly since they got back from Neverland.

She's snarked her way through it, sure. Sassy and infuriating and occasionally downright insulting as ever – but the point is that she's been there, through everything. Right back to helping save her from the Enchanted Forest, really.

Emma's stomach twists painfully – she really is an idiot.

Her head has finally cleared and now she can barely stand to look at herself she feels so awful. If Regina is at all involved in the murders then there's no way it's of her own free will, or she's being framed, or _something_. She doesn't care about what the evidence says anymore. The evidence doesn't matter. The evidence must be wrong – or she's seeing it wrong. Regina's innocent, or mostly innocent – she has to be – and Emma's been a total asshole.

She jumps up from the couch. She's got to see her – got to apologize – and grabs her phone off the coffee table where she'd dumped it. She's about to press five when she sees she's got a text message.

Frowning, she opens it, and her heart starts to pound as she reads it.

**_Look in your mailbox_**

Emma runs outside, shoving her hand into the mailbox and coming out with a small cream envelope. She opens it with shaking fingers, pulling out the piece of card she knows will be inside.

**_Dear Sheriff,_** it reads

**_I'm delighted to invite you to my third, and final murder. Today, 22.00. This one, I'm happy to say, will be a private event – just for you. Come alone, or this won't remain my last murder. Don't be late._**

**_Location: - Storybrooke Clock Tower_**

**_Yours_**

**_Murderer_**

Emma's breath hitches in her throat.

"Shit," she mutters, "_shit_."

She walks quickly back inside, glancing up at the clock on the wall. It's nearly half past nine already – she hardly has any time.

She pulls out her phone and dials Lilly's number. There's no answer – she's probably with Fred. She doesn't really feel comfortable springing surprise babysitting on Ruby right now, not considering the girl hasn't spoken to her on anything other than business since the ball. Instead, she takes a deep breath, and calls her father.

"Emma?"

"Hey, David, sorry," she says, trying to sound collected, "I know this is short notice – but could you and Mary Margaret do me a massive, massive favor?"

.

.

.

Henry and Grace's look of confusion at being bundled hurriedly into the car in their pajamas is only matched by her mother and father's at her urgent demeanor as she hands them over. Snow catches her arm as she turns to leave, brow furrowed in concern.

"Emma what's going on?" she asks, but the blonde just shrugs her off.

"Nothing, don't worry."

Her mother frowns at her but she doesn't hang around long enough to be interrogated, to get into any conversations she doesn't have time for – hurrying down the stairs before the woman can ask anything else.

.

.

.

By the time she gets to the clock tower her heart is racing, breathing shallow. She's got no idea what she's going to find up there – _who_ she's going to find up there. All she's got is her gun.

This is probably a really, _really_ stupid idea. She's a cop – cops aren't meant to go places alone even when they're told to. But then she's also a bounty hunter – and they sort of specialize in alone.

She mounts the stairs slowly, fingers itching on her holster as she reaches the top.

The room there is dark, cast with long black shadows. The only light is that from the moon, and reflection off the snow outside and Emma looks around carefully as she steps inside.

She can't see anyone – but then the room is so full of shadows that there could be any number of people lurking in them.

Eventually, though, someone steps forward so that their face falls under a revealing beam of moonshine – and Emma does a double take, blinking.

"Ashley?" she asks, and the blonde girl stares at her blankly.

"Hello, Emma."

She lets out a little nervous chuckle. "Ash, what're you doing here?"

She makes a movement that might be a shrug – but pretty much everything but her face is in darkness, so it's difficult to tell. "The same as you. I'm here for the murder."

Emma shakes her head, trying to process. "Wait, but you…you're not…"

"Murderer, yes," she states matter-of-factly.

"No, no – but you weren't even at the ball."

"That's what they wanted you to think," she says, face still blank.

Emma's stiffens. "They? Who're 'they'?"

"My masters," she replies evenly. "They're the ones who told me who to kill."

Regina's voice echoes in her head _'She's possessed, or enchanted. Probably enchanted.' _and she groans inwardly before taking a careful step forward.

"Who are they, Ash? Who's doing this to you?"

"My masters," she repeats.

Emma takes another step towards her. "Who? Who are your masters?"

Ashley cocks her head to the side, regarding her with calm disinterest. "The grown up children."

"The children?" Emma asks, heart pounding in her ears. "The children are controlling you?"

"No, not all of them."

Emma frowns. "Then which ones?"

"The adult ones," she whispers, eyes widening in something not dissimilar to fear, "hiding in plain sight."

"And they're the ones who tell you who to kill?"

"Sacrifice," Ashley corrects, "they are merely sacrifices."

Emma nods – that's not news to her. "Sacrifices for the summoning, yeah?" she probes, taking another furtive step forward.

"Yes. The summoning requires four sacrifices."

Emma's brow creases further. "Four? But the letter said this was the last murder?"

"Four," Ashley repeats firmly, "three blood sacrifices and the channel – a being through whom the spirits may pour."

The blonde feels a shiver run through her. "And who did they tell you to choose? Milla, Obie – who else?"

She blinks slowly, then speaks again – voice still flat and emotionless. "They gave no names."

"Then how –"

"They gave me four instructions," she interrupts, "of which I have done three."

"And these instructions – they were to do with the sacrifices?"

"They told me who to take."

Emma's head is spinning in confusion, and Ashley's calm demeanor is not helping. She doesn't know where she stands – and that's a feeling she really hates.

"And who were they?" she presses, desperate to get some useful information out of the girl. If she can prevent another murder – and another invasion of the children – then she's goddamn going to.

"My instructions were as follows," Ashley responds, sounding practically robotic. "To kill the orphan boy, to kill the orphan girl, to kill the sinner, and to seduce the broken woman."

Emma's heart stutters.

"Seduce the broken woman?" she asks, the phrase making her distinctly uneasy. "Why?"

"That is not important."

"It's important to me," the blonde growls angrily.

"No," Ashley declares, "it's not. What's important is that I have one more task to complete. I have yet to kill the sinner – but once I do the summoning will be complete, and the rift will be opened."

Emma's beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable. "And what happens then?"

Ashley smiles, and it's disturbing on her emotionless face. "And then the children shall feast."

Emma bites down on her tongue, trying to ignore the erratic beat of her heart. "Who's your next victim, Ashley? Who's the sinner?"

"Murderer," she corrects. "There is no Ashley anymore."

She shakes her head. "That's not true, is it? I think Ashley's still in there – and last week she made it out again for a little while. I think you're still in there, aren't you, Ash?" she ignores the way her voice is shaking, the way her whole _body's_ shaking.

"No."

"Yes. Ash, you're in there, I know you are. That was Ashley in the hospital, and that is Ashley's body. Ashley who loves her husband Thomas, and her baby girl. Her little Alex. That Ashley's still in there."

There's a moment, and then the blankness on the girl's face disappears, replaced with a look of sheer terror

"Emma!" she chokes out. "Emma, you have to look for the gnomes!"

The blonde's about to respond, to move forward to her, but then the girl shakes her head and the blank expression is back. "No." her voice hisses. "There is no more Ashley. All that's left in this girl is a sinner."

Emma's eyes widen in sudden comprehension. "No," she breaths, and runs – but it's too late.

Ashley's jumped.

The blonde hadn't seen the rope around the girl's neck in the darkness, but she hears it slide and pull taught with the girl's weight. She also hears the sickening sound of a neck snap.

She stops short, falling to her knees and peering down into the darkness. In the moonlight she can just about see the blonde head, make out the way it's twisting sickeningly from side to side.

Emma's head drops into her hands, breaths coming in short little gasps that she vaguely notes aren't far from hyperventilation.

She's shaking, and she feels sick – because this isn't happening. She did _not_ just let Ashley die as well.

Her head's spinning, and one phrase starts going round and around _'seduce the broken woman'_. That can only have meant Regina, can't it? But that would mean – what _would_ that mean? Ashley had said the last sacrifice wasn't a blood sacrifice but a channel – so did that mean? No. Emma feels panic bubbling in her chest. She has to get to Regina, now.

She scrambles off the ground, hesitating briefly and casting a glance to the dim outline of Ashley's swinging body. There's nothing she can do, she tells herself. Not now. Ashley's dead but Regina – Regina's still alive. She has to still be alive. Ashley didn't say that being the channel involved death.

She races down the steps at a rate so fast it's a wonder that _she_ doesn't break her neck. She doesn't bother with the Bug either, it's far quicker to run. She needs to run.

.

.

.

When she gets to the mansion it's completely dark, but when she tries the door she finds it's open. She races inside, looking around for any sign of life.

"Regina?" she calls, barreling through doors "Regina!"

The office. The kitchen. The sitting room.

"Regina!"

The dining room. Up the stairs to Regina's bedroom. Henry's bedroom. The bathroom.

"_Regina!_" she screams, sheer terror coursing through her. The other woman isn't here, that's painfully obvious – but she has no idea where else she would be – so at the same time that Emma knows she isn't there, she also _has _to be.

She can't stop thinking that the last time she saw the woman she was breaking her heart. Can't stop thinking that her own her heart's breaking and that she can't fucking _breathe_. Her mind has been foggy lately, she's been confused and unable to sort through her emotions. But for one beautiful, terrible moment, standing gasping for air in the darkened foyer of 108 Mifflin Street – her mind clears.

Terror and grief sear their way through everything else and leave a simple truth burning into her brain.

She loves Regina.

Of course she loves her. It's clear as day and she feels like a total idiot for not being able to see it before. She hadn't been sure because she'd been confused and distracted and stressed – because her mind hasn't shut down and had a rest since the 19th of November – but it still isn't an excuse. Because she does. Goddammit, she's so fucking in love with her. And she hasn't had a chance to tell her. She takes a long shuddering breath, resolve hardening. She's going to find her, alive, and she's _going_ to tell her.

Emma rubs aggressively at her eyes – she refuses to cry. She needs to think, needs to work out a way to find the other woman. Problem is, she really has no idea where to start.

She thinks over everything Ashley said, wondering if there had been any clues she'd missed, and suddenly she remembers Ashley – the real Ashley's – desperate final cry.

_'Look for the gnomes'_

She casts her mind back. To the ball, and to a small garden gnome crushed by her heel. To her house, and a little painted gnome on her doorstep. To her car, and the gnome she'd stepped on right beside it. Most importantly though, to her father's ex-wife, and to frantic, insane cries about gnomes and children.

_'You've gotta burn them,'_ Kathryn's voice echoes around her head _'it's the only way.'_

Emma freezes. Kathryn _knew_. Kathryn knew all this time – had been trying to warn her – and she'd just locked her up in the asylum.

She doesn't wait another moment, sprinting out of the house and back into town, towards the hospital.

When she finally gets there she's breathless, sweating despite the freezing temperatures. She rushes up to the desk

"Kathryn," she chokes out, "Kathryn Nolan – I need to see her."

The nurse frowns up at her. "It's long past visiting hours, all the patients are asleep now."

A noise leaves Emma's mouth that can only really be referred to as a growl. "Then we'll wake her up. But I. Need. To see her."

The nurse continues to stare up at her, unmoved, and she's on the verge of getting out her gun when Whale comes round the corner, speaking intently to a nurse at his side.

"Whale!" she shouts, rounding on him.

"Sheriff?" he startles. "What can I do for you – Jefferson's asleep right now but –"

"I'm not here about Jefferson," she pants, "I'm here about Kathryn – I need to see her."

The doctor frowns. "She's down in the asylum right now."

"I don't care if she's in fucking Narnia, Whale, I need to see her – _now_," she adds, glaring at him. He looks a little dazed by her aggression, but nods.

"Follow me."

She follows right behind him, walking quickly so he's forced to match her speed lest she run him over. He leads her down a small flight of stairs into a part of the hospital she's never been to. It's gray, and grim, and dark, and she can't quite believe that she's the reason for someone being locked up down here. She feels more than a little awful.

They walk along a row of doors and finally come to a stop, Whale taking out a key and unlocking it. The door swings open and Emma steps cautiously inside.

Kathryn's sitting huddled on her bed, blonde hair hanging limply around her shoulders, swaying with movement as she rocks back and forth.

"Kathryn?" Emma asks gently, and the woman's eyes snap up to her, pleading.

"I'm not mad," she whispers desperately, "I'm not mad. I'm not mad, I'm not mad, I'm not mad."

Emma nods, as encouragingly as she can manage given her frantic state. "I know you're not mad, Kathryn. I know."

The other woman's eyes widen at her. "You do?"

"Yes. You were right – and I didn't listen – and I am _so_ sorry," she steps over and places a careful hand on the other woman's shoulder.

Kathryn's eyes dart to the hand and then up to Emma. "You believe me?" she asks again, incredulous.

"I do," Emma tells her, "you were right – about the children. You have to burn them."

"And the gnomes?" Kathryn asks carefully and Emma crouches down to look her in the eye.

"That's why I'm here, Kathryn, do you know where they're coming from?"

She nods eagerly. "My garden," she whispers, looking relieved at being able to share the information, "they just turned up one day in my garden."

"Your garden?" Emma asks, straightening up. "That's where they all are?"

"Yes, yes, that's where they come through."

"Okay, come on then," she reaches out a hand and Kathryn eyes it suspiciously

"Where are we going?"

Emma smiles at her, wondering to herself how she's ever going to make this up to the poor woman. "I'm taking you home."


	4. The Gnomes in the Forest

_It's a cold, windy November day in Storybrooke, Maine, and Kathryn Nolan is enjoying spending it inside. She's got a casserole in the oven, a nice bottle of wine, and a good book to read. It's peaceful in her new house – right out in the forest – but after everything she's gone through over the past few years, it's a welcome break._

_She's just nestled herself in under a blanket, book in hand, when she hears it. Laughter. The high-pitched, pealing laughter that could only come from a child. Only it doesn't sound quite right. As it comes again, Kathryn finds that it sends a shiver right down her spine._

_She gets up from the couch, listening for it again as she walks towards the sound. She follows it to her back door, and almost has a heart attack when she sees a small child outside it – clothes ripped and bloody, face contorted in a strange kind of glee._

_He blinks up at her, tilting his head to one side. "Let me in?" he asks, and then proceeds to rattle the door handle with much more force than a child his size should be able to. She jumps, and starts to back away._

_The rattling gets louder._

_"Let me in," he says again, this time more forcefully. She backs slowly into her kitchen – straight into another body – and screams, turning to face the intruder._

_"I'm not here to hurt you," he says calmly, "I'm here to give you some advice."_

_She recognizes him vaguely – has seen him about town – but she's no idea who he actually is. _

_"Advice?" she asks warily. "What advice, why?"_

_He chuckles, casting a glance to the door. It's shaking dangerously, the glass panels rattling loudly. "Because all things considered, your death would simply become an inconvenience."_

_She stares at him, wondering vaguely where the closest kitchen knife is. "My death?"_

_"Is certain – if you don't heed my advice," he continues._

_"And what advice is that?" she asks carefully._

_"The gnomes are a sign the children are coming – and if you want to live, you'll have to burn the children."_

_With that he turns on his heel and strides out of the kitchen – she hears her front door shut a moment later. She stares after him incredulously, positive she's just had an encounter with an escaped lunatic from the asylum – but then the door rattles again – and stupid as it might be, she starts to search around in her kitchen for the blowtorch she uses for cooking. _

_She grabs a bottle of gin too._

_The door eventually flies open, the thunder-faced child stalking inside – heading straight for her._

_"I want you to play with me," he says, eyes wild, and she sends up a silent prayer before throwing the gin and directing the blow torch's flame at him._

_He doesn't burn – not like a human would. The flame consumes him and then burns out, leaving nothing behind. He does scream though. _

_She shuts the door again quickly, peering into her garden. There's a large circle of painted, china gnomes there that she most definitely did not buy – and suddenly the mysterious stranger doesn't seem so crazy. After that, she keeps the house completely locked, blowtorch by her side – though she sees no more children._

_She doesn't go outside again until the party that Snow has rung and told her is compulsory. She doesn't complain – it's probably about time she warned people about the gnomes appearing all over the forest floor anyway._

.

.

.

"Who was he?" Emma demands as they reach her car. "Who was the man?"

Kathryn shrugs apologetically. "I don't know. I recognized him, vaguely – but I don't know him."

"Well what did he look like?" she asks, trying to remain patient. Whoever it was is most likely behind this – can most likely _stop_ this. This is it, this is the best lead she's had for the entire case – and it's not a moment too soon.

"He…I…"

"Kathryn I know it's hard," she says, "but _please_, please just think."

"He was tall," she offers, frowning as she apparently tries to remember him, "thin, but not too muscly."

"Good," Emma encourages, "what else?"

Kathryn takes a breath, closing her eyes. "Blonde hair – but not light, more sandy. Maybe with a touch of ginger. Like strawberry blonde?" she says it like a question, but it pulls Emma up short.

Because that does sound like someone.

That sounds like _Fred_.

"Gray eyes?" Emma asks, and Kathryn's eyes light up in recognition of the description.

"Yes, yes – do you know him?"

The blonde nods lamely. "Yeah I think I do."

.

.

.

They pull up outside Fred's apartment and Emma doesn't waste time trying to think things over – Regina's out there, god knows what happening to her – and she doesn't have time to waste being logical anymore.

She hammers on the door loudly, aggressively. "Fred? You in there? You better open this door or I swear to god I will –"

The door opens and Fred's standing there, in a dirty tee and sweats, two days of scruff on his face and looking thoroughly un-Fred like.

"Emma?" he asks accusingly. "Did you know too?"

She frowns in confusion, anger bubbling barely containable within her. "Know what?" she snaps.

He looks upset – broken, almost. "Jake," he says, sounding pained, "Jake's dead."

Oh. She'd forgotten he didn't know that – or did now, apparently.

"How did you find out?"

"Ruby let it slip accidentally," he replies, sounding a mixture of broken and bitter, "I can't believe you guys didn't tell me."

Emma scoffs. "And I can't believe you didn't tell me you're a murderous psychopath – so I guess we're even," she spits out.

He looks up at her, eyes widening. "You know?"

Her mouth falls open. "You're not even gonna _deny_ it?"

"Well depending on how much you know, that would probably be a little pointless wouldn't it?" he says despondently. He sounds almost childish.

"I know that my friends are dying and apparently you're responsible," she growls, backing him up against the wall, "now tell me how the hell to call this thing off?"

He frowns. "To call what off?"

"The summoning, whatever it is. Tell me how to stop it."

"It'll remain inactive without the third sacrifice," he shrugs, "the breach won't be fully opened."

Emma pulls him forwards and then slams him against the wall again, harder. "Don't try and bullshit me, Fred, you know me well enough to know it won't work."

"Bullshit you? Emma I'm not –"

"The third sacrifice just happened," she yells at him, "so tell me what to _do_."

Fred's eyes widen. "What?"

"I said, the third sacrifice just _happened_ and now Regina is missing and you are gonna do whatever the hell you have to to _stop_ this!"

"Oh my god," Fred's head falls back against the wall and Emma stares at him.

"What?" she snaps.

"Emma I didn't do this," he sighs and she lets out a bark of derision.

"You just admitted to it."

"I _was_ doing it – okay? But then when I found out about Jake I…I realized it was my fault he died and it snapped me out of it. This isn't who I am anymore, and I never should have let this happen in the first place – but we decided, god, she agreed we wouldn't take it any further."

Emma looks up at him in complete confusion. "Fred, what the hell are you talking about? If it's not you then who's doing this?"

He sighs, closing his eyes and then opening them again, looking defeated. "It's Lilly."

Emma laughs, but he just looks at her. He's dead serious – and her lie detector isn't pinging. He's telling the truth he's actually…

She takes a staggering step backwards.

"No," she shakes her head, "no it…it can't be this is…that's ridiculous."

Fred just looks at her sadly. "Emma, I'm sorry we –"

"No!" she shouts at him. "No! You guys did…Lilly isn't…" her breathing's gone funny again and she can't see straight.

Lilly's been by her side this whole time, helping with the investigation, babysitting her _kid_. She's been practically the most helpful member of the team. This can't be right.

"Emma I know this is…I know that you probably hate me a lot right now – I certainly hate me right now – but if you're right and the third sacrifice has been made then –"

"Then what?"

"Then everything's going to hell," he says, looking genuinely upset by his own words, "and we need to get to the breach."

"Is that where Regina will be?" she asks a little desperately, and he nods.

She sets her jaw, looking him up and down.

"Fine – and that's at Kathryn's house, correct?"

"Yes."

"Alright then – one more thing."

He raises an eyebrow in question, then she turns and delivers a powerful right hook straight to his jaw.

"And don't think that's all you're getting," she spits out, "if I had cuffs on me you'd be in them Frederick Bana. Now get in the car."

Fred takes it wordlessly – which she finds distinctly unnerving – and walks out in front of her, climbing into the front seat of the Bug where she can keep an eye on him.

"How long does it take to get to your house Kathryn?" she asks the woman perched nervously on the backseat.

"Five, ten minutes," she shrugs, and Emma turns to the man beside her.

"Okay, Fred, you've got five to ten to tell me everything and hope that I don't _shoot_ you at the end of it – so spill."

.

.

.

_They're not meant to be in Storybrooke. They're not meant to be a part of the curse. It just so happened that their latest portal had taken them to Wonderland right before the curse hit – they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time, if you were looking at it from Lilly's point of view. Portals from Aeternum had never opened up onto this world, and in Lilly's head – once Lilly's head had been her own again – it was a rare opportunity not to be wasted. Their duty, she said, as the Shifters._

_But Fred disagreed. Fred liked being alive again, being human. He liked the freedom to feel the warmth of human flesh beneath his fingers, to have control over himself. He liked baking and lucky charms and tinkering and electricity. Most of all though – he liked his adult brain, his adult body. He liked his boyfriend Jake – he _loved_ his boyfriend Jake. He loved life in Storybrooke, and Lilly loved her brother. So they'd let it go. They'd agreed to live a normal life as normal people – until Fred had decided that he had to admit the truth to Jake and his boyfriend hadn't taken so kindly to the idea that his lover was an immortal child-like spirit, so he'd broken up with him._

_And Lilly had been right there, waiting, with a perfect plan ready to put into action at Fred's word. And Fred, hurting and bitter, had let the tortured child inside him take control for a minute – and his word had been yes._

_Then two days ago he'd learnt that Jake had been killed – died because he'd been bitter and selfish – and suddenly he'd remembered that this wasn't who he wanted to be anymore. _

_He doesn't want to be an Aeternia Spirit, leeching the life out of other people to keep the twisted child he'd been born alive. He wants to be a person. One who grows up and falls in love and eats lucky charms. _

_He'd told Lilly to call it off, to stop, and she'd agreed. Foolishly, it seems, he'd believed her._

.

.

.

"Okay wait back up I'm confused," Emma says, "you're from _where_?"

"Aeternum," Fred says patiently.

"And that is…"

"Think of it like hell for children," he replies, "only with less punishment and more…celebration of sin."

Emma raises her eyebrows. "Celebration of sin?" she asks pointedly.

Fred sighs. "Aeternum isn't where good children go – it's where all the twisted, warped ones end up. The ones who killed their hamsters or their puppies…or their mom."

The blonde swerves the car unintentionally. "It's where all the _Chuckies_ go, that's what you're telling me?"

"Actually," Kathryn pipes up from the backseat, "Chucky was a grown up serial killer stuck in a child's doll – so this is kinda the other way round."

Emma throws her a look over her shoulder, and the other woman leans back again, shutting up.

"So the people who're ill they're –"

"If the spirits touch you it creates a psychic link," Fred explains, "after that they're able to drain you of just about everything you are. It's how they feed."

"So it _is_ about energy? I was right?"

"Yeah Lilly said you'd worked that out." His mouth pulls up into a tiny smirk. "Man she was pissed about that. Anyway, yeah, since what they're taking is pretty much life energy – the more you have the longer you'll last – the longer you'll be able to fight it."

"And is there a cure?" Emma asks, voice hard.

"Not if the spirit's still alive – no spirit is willingly going to give up a victim. They don't always feed that often – but when they do they're _hungry_."

"But if the spirit dies?" she presses.

Fred shrugs. "I've never seen it happen – people don't tend to fight us. But I assume that if the spirit dies then the energy might be returned to the victim – or at least it would stop being stolen."  
The blonde bites her lip – that's not totally hopeless. There might be a way.

"Kathryn said her garden's where they're coming through," Emma starts as they turn onto the winding track that leads up to the other woman's house, "are we gonna have to fight them off or what?"

Fred shakes his head. "I doubt there'll be any coming through there now. The first two sacrifices are what open the breach, let the first ones through – but the third one tears it wide open. They'll probably be coming through all over town now, not just in the forest."

Emma nods as they pull up into Kathryn's drive, and she starts to get out of the car, but Fred's hand on her arm stops her. "Emma, wait."

"What?" she bites out, trying to shrug his hand from her arm.

"You need to know what you're about to find," he says, voice apologetic, and the worry that she's been trying to suppress comes bubbling to the surface again.

"What d'you mean? I'm going to find Regina."

"No," his face softens in apology, "no, I'm really sorry, but you're not."

It's not worry, it's sheer unadulterated terror. She can't listen to him – she shouldn't even trust him. She wrenches her arm away from his grasp and jumps out of the car, running around the back of the house to the garden.

When she gets there, she stops short, heart leaping to her throat.

Regina's there, but it doesn't look like Regina's _there_. She's in the center of the gnomes – arranged in a circle just as Kathryn had described – head lolling back and arms thrown wide, bright white light consuming her. There's a pealing, childish laughter echoing around and bouncing off the surrounding trees, and the garden feels colder than it had been out front.

"Regina!" she screams, without thinking, and makes to run – but then Fred's there holding her back.

"Let me go," she spits out, "let me go I have to help her."

Fred grimaces. "Emma, she's not there right now. She's just a channel."

The blonde turns frightened eyes to him, heart pounding. "But she'll come back right? Once the summoning's over? She'll be okay?"

The man's eyes soften in apology and she feels her heart stutter. "No. _No._ She'll be okay she _has_ to be."

"Being a channel burns you out – by the time the summoning's finished there'll be nothing of Regina left," he whispers, sounding ashamed.

Emma stares him down, vaguely aware that her eyes are damp. "Well we're here to stop the summoning anyway," she says firmly, turning her head to look at him. "So how do we do that?"

His eyebrows knit together in a way that doesn't instil her with confidence. "Once it's at this stage there's only one way."

"And what's that?"

"Killing the channel."

The blonde lets out a little desperate dry sob. "No." She shakes her head. "No there has to be something else," she looks up at Fred, pleading, "please Fred, there has to be something else – tell me. Tell me what else I can do. Please."

His eyes flicker from Emma to Regina and back again, looking distressed.

"For Jake," she whispers – not caring if that's low or manipulative. As far she she's concerned he deserves it.

His face falls slightly, looking defeated. "There's one other thing that I've heard of," he starts warily, "but I don't even know if it's true – and it's never done because it's normally considered worse."

"What is it?"

"You can send her soul to Aeternum," he admits, looking torn at even telling her.

She frowns, not really sure she's understanding him right. "What?"

"The point of the channel is that it provides a path for what would otherwise be raw spiritual energy," he explains, "killing the channel gets rid of that path and then no more can come through – but sending the channel's own soul through…you create a kind of black hole effect. The whole thing will collapse in on itself – or so I've heard."

Emma stares at Regina for a moment, then turns back to Fred. "Would she be alive?"

He throws up his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "Honestly I have no idea what would happen to her – I spent over a thousand years there and never saw an adult. The spirits there all died as children – I don't even know if adult souls _can_ go there."

"So what are you saying?" she asks angrily, pretty sure she knows already – but needing it spelt out for her. If she tried to write her own name right now she'd probably need that spelt out for her too.

"I'm saying I don't know if her soul would survive – or if it did whether it would remain the same. But then if you kill her, then you've killed her. She'll be dead for definite."

She screws her eyes shut, biting down hard on her lip.

This is pretty much an impossible decision – and neither option has an outcome she even wants to _think_ about, let alone face as a reality. She doesn't know what to do.

Except she does, because it's obvious. She can't kill Regina – not just outright like that. She has to give her a fighting chance – has to do whatever selfish thing she can to keep even a part of her alive.

"How did this happen?" she asks quietly, needing to wrap her head around it. "A few days ago she was just Regina and she was herself and now – now you're telling me there's nothing I can do?"

Fred looks down at her sadly. "Emma I…she's been doomed since the first sacrifice," he admits quietly.

"What?"

He sighs. "Okay look – the way it works with channels is that you have to cast a spell on them, but it'll only work if they're emotionally vulnerable at the time of casting – that's what lets the spell take hold of their souls. Once the first sacrifice has been made the spell on them is activated, from that point on their soul's no longer their own."

"So, what, you're saying she might as well have been dead this whole time?" Emma asks, voice rising in disbelief.

Fred shrugs. "In a way – they're still themselves, just like the people who've been touch by the spirits are themselves – until they're not."

The blonde gapes at him, trying to wrap her head around the fact that this fate had been coming for Regina for weeks, and they'd had no idea. She wonders lamely if – had they known – there'd have been anything they could do. There's no point dwelling on it though, she can't afford to wallow right now.

Emma's eyes widen in sudden understanding at something. "That's why Ashley…to make her vulnerable enough to let the spell in?"

"I guess so," Fred nods, "I wasn't really involved in that part. Lilly did all the planning."

"What do you mean?" she asks angrily. Her heart's beginning to race – and she's pretty sure she's having a nightmare, because this really can't be happening.

"I didn't make the plan, Emma, it was all Lilly. I didn't even know she'd gotten Ashley involved – or Regina," he clarifies quickly.

The blonde just stares at him. "I don't…I don't understand surely you knew what had to be done?"

"Three blood sacrifices, a channel, and anchors," he recites robotically, "that's all you need. Everything else was just…Lilly being Lilly."

She frowns. "Lilly being Lilly?"

He exhales, rubbing at his right temple. "Lilly has – shall we say – a certain flair for the dramatic."

Emma opens her mouth to question him further, but there's a slightly manic laugh from the tree line, and all three of their heads snap up to see Lilly, crouching there – looking disturbingly like a tiger ready to pounce.

"Oh come on, bro – you can't deny it was entertaining," she grins. "All those other _little_ worlds where we had to snatch children in the dead of night and hide their bodies in ditches – but not here. This place was practically made to be my stage."

The blonde's eyes widen. She hadn't quite believed it – that sweet, helpful Lilly was behind it all – but the girl's looking at them with a glint in her eyes that's barely human. Suddenly, she doesn't look like Emma's friend and deputy – she looks like a mad woman, one who Emma can easily believe capable of all this.

"What d'you mean?" Emma asks carefully – if there's one thing she knows about crazy people, it's that if you keep them talking long enough they might just tell you everything you need.

"This little town," the redhead sighs, a delighted shiver running through her body, "with all of you trapped inside it – I could do anything I wanted and you couldn't run away. For once we were completely in control of the game – not scavengers hiding in the night."

"That's what Murderer was about?" she asks, a little disgusted.

"I just wanted to see the panic on your pathetic mortal faces," she spits, "I wanted you to see that I was two steps ahead of you this whole time. Wanted to see you all scared before my brothers and sisters came to kill you. I wanted you all to _know_ what was coming for you and not be able to run."

"But it didn't work," Emma laughs, "no one knew what was coming for them, none of us even knew what the children were. Your plan failed."

Lilly smirks, taking a careful step towards them. "You think they weren't scared? – all those people dying? You think that Hannah Montague wasn't _petrified_ as she felt the life seep out of her?"

Emma winces.

Lilly chuckles, taking another step closer. "You think that Jefferson wasn't terrified when he felt that hand brush against him – knowing what was coming for him? They're all petrified, Emma. They all die alone, helpless, and screaming inside from the terror. You have all been _scared_ since Ashley sent that first invite. I would know," she adds, "I've been right there by your side."

The blonde glowers at her, unable to move.

"How did you know about the town hall?"

The redhead gives a short bark of laughter. "Because you're all so pathetically predictable. When you're panicked you herd. Like animals. It was an easy assumption to make."

"What about Ashley?" she asks weakly.

"What about her?"

"Why her?" she doesn't know what good it will do, but she has to know. "And why Regina?" her eyes flicker to the brunette. She's not unaware she needs to _do_ something, but she doesn't know what Lilly's capable of – if she'll be able to get around her.

"Ashley was my little stroke of genius," she grins to herself, "the sacrifice requires a sinner, Emma. So I thought to myself – why not create my own?"

Emma's eyes widen at the redhead, mouth hanging open.

"You're a complete psychopath," she breathes.

"No," Lilly laughs, "no – I just like games – and you played along to mine so _very_ sweetly."

Emma feels anger burning white hot within her. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but she can't even find the words.

She finds herself moving forward, feet carrying her towards the redhead with furious determination – but Lilly dances out of the way, backing up into the dark tree line of the forest.

"I'm sorry, Emma, but you'll have to excuse me," she beams, the expression completely unhinged, "I have a feast to get to."

With that she turns and runs.

Emma's first instinct is to fly after her in pursuit – but she can't leave Regina. She scrabbles in her pocket for her cell, pulling it out and dialing the first number her fingers make it to.

The phone rings once before someone answers it. "Emma, where the hell are you?" Ruby shouts at her over the screaming and shouting in the background. "There's more of them – they're everywhere. Everyone's freaking out, it's chaos – we need you here!"

Emma shakes her head. "Rubes I…I can't."

The girl's voice rises an octave, "What do you mean you _can't_? You're the Sheriff!"

"Yeah and the Sheriff is trying to figure out a way to _stop_ this," she snaps impatiently. "That's not what I called about."

"Then what is it?"

"Lilly," she chokes out, voice full of anger and betrayal.

"Is she with you? I couldn't get through to her cell."

"No, Rubes it's…it's _Lilly_."

Ruby laughs, but it's humorless and unamused sounding. "Very funny, Emma, but now really isn't the time for practical jokes."

"I'm not joking, Ruby," she snaps, eyes flicking to Regina's unconscious form, to the whiteness consuming her. "She and Fred they're…they're –"

"Aeternia spirits," he supplies and she glares at him.

"Really fucked up," she settles on, "so if you see her – you _arrest_ her, d'you hear?"

"Ye…yeah," Ruby's shock is evident from the way her voice has lost all anger. "But, Emma where are you?"

"I'm at Kathryn's," she says, eyes fixed on Regina, "we've got kinda a situation of our own over here."

"Okay, well, stay safe," Ruby mutters and Emma nods.

"Rubes one more thing – I need you to call Whale and take him round to the Clock Tower," she instructs, feeling a little sick at the thought of what they'll find. "Whatever you do, don't let Tom come."

She hears Ruby start to argue, or at least question her – but she doesn't have time to explain. She hangs up and shoves her phone back in her pocket, turning to Fred.

"Okay," she says, fixing him with her best 'no bullshit' stare, "tell me what to do."

.

.

.

Emma's shaking, and sweating. The wetness on her face might be tears as well, but she can't concentrate on whether they are or not – she has more important things to concentrate on.

"I can't do it," she says, shaking her head, "I can't. I've hardly even produced a fireball, certainly not on my _own_ – how am I supposed to do this?"

Fred looks at her sympathetically. "I don't know, Emma, I'm just telling you how it has to be done."

"Yeah," she nods, still pacing, "through magic. I get that."

"If you don't think you can do it –"

"I have to," she snaps, "I won't kill her. I can't."

How she's going to do it, though, she's no idea. She wishes desperately that she'd listened to her parents and learnt how to control her magic. That she'd listened to _Regina_ and believed she personally had nothing to fear from it.

The man looks to Kathryn and then back to Emma. "We might be able to help you – just to let you draw on some energy from us – but unless you have a storage room full of spell ingredients then I can't help you."

Emma frowns. "Wait, what do you mean – _you_ could do it instead?"

"Not without looking up the spell and finding all the ingredients – the magic Lilly and I do is different to yours and Regina's. We use the power of words and objects – but your magic is a part of you. It's a force that comes from within."

"Like love," Emma breathes, more to herself than anything.

Fred shrugs. "If you say so. I really don't know much about how your magic works."

She turns to look at Regina again, heart twisting. "You have to think about what it is you're protecting," she recites the words, spoken to her what seems forever ago.

The irony that those words were given to her as advice when Regina was the one she was protecting people from is not at all lost on her, but she doesn't feel like dwelling on it.

"You need to tell me exactly what needs to be done," she tells Fred, a sudden sense of calm washing over her. She knows what she's doing – she's protecting Regina. Magic is emotion, Gold had said, and she finally understands her emotions towards the woman.

She knows why she protects her without thinking, why she flirted unconsciously before she'd even realized she was into her. Why her arms hold the most comfort and, most of all, why she's so capable of annoying the fuck out of her. It's because she loves her, and she's realized too late.

Regina's not there, not really, and Emma can't tell her she loves her. Can't apologize for accusing her, for not trusting her. She can't apologize for the heartbreak and hurt she caused her. All she can do is suck it up and try to do this one thing, this one last thing to keep her alive.

"Tell me," she says again, when Fred just stares at her in confusion, "what's the process? What exactly needs to happen?"

"You have to tear her soul away from her body," he answers apologetically, "then cast it through the breach."

"What will happen to her body?" she asks, trying to remain calm. She can't lose it, not yet.

He grimaces. "It'll just be a shell. There'll be nothing of her left."

Emma takes in a ragged breath. _Keep it together_.

"Okay," she flexes her fingers agitatedly, trying to stay focused, "and what exactly will her soul look like?"

Fred startles. "Wha – I…I have no idea."

"Brilliant."

"Emma you don't have to do this," he says carefully and she turns on him.

"Yes," she snaps, "yes I do – and that's thanks to you and your psychotic sister so don't test me right now, Fred. I can't just let her die."

He stares at her a moment then nods. "Kathryn come here."

The other woman looks up from where she's biting her nails nervously, and eyes him with a deep suspicion.

He sighs. "I'm not going to hurt you, Kathryn," he promises, "but Emma might need us to draw energy from. What she's about to do is incredibly draining – if she even can do it."

"Not helping," Emma grits out.

"Sorry."

She ignores him, walking cautiously over to the glowing circle.

"Don't step inside," Fred warns, "I don't know how easy it is for people to fall through the breach."

Regina doesn't look like Regina like this, and she doesn't want to see it. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, standing just outside the circle.

"We're here," Fred says, nudging Kathryn to stand on Emma's other side, "use us if you need us."

Her jaw tightens. "Oh I will do," she snaps, "believe me."

Then she screws her eyes shut tighter and blocks them out. She blocks out the eerie sound of laughter, the buzz of the energy pouring through the woman in the circle before her, she even shuts out the sound of her own breathing.

In her mind she examines the woman before her, searching her for something intangible. It would really help if she knew exactly what she was looking for, she thinks, but there's nothing she can do about that.

.

.

.

_She imagines herself surging forward, her mind slipping into Regina's – and then suddenly she's surrounded by bright white light, and an almost unbearable buzzing sound._

_She turns, looking around, and sees her. There's a young girl – no more than eighteen – huddled up with her hands over her ears, eyes screwed shut._

_Emma walks over to her, crouching down to eye level. It's Regina – that's obvious – but younger than Emma's ever known her. She's cowering, afraid, and Emma gently pries her hands away from her ears – forcing her to open her eyes and look at her._

_"Emma?" she greets her, voice small._

_The blonde offers her a watery smile. "Hey."_

_"What's happening to me?" she asks, brown eyes wide with an innocence Emma's never seen in them – she wonders absently if this is the Regina that was, before she became an evil queen and cursed kingdoms._

_"Am I dead?" she asks, with an anxiousness on her face that makes Emma's stomach twist._

_"You're dying," she answers, biting back on the emotion in her throat. She's not going to lie to her, not after all the pain she's already caused._

_The young Regina's eyes go a little blank and she nods. "Okay."_

_"No, no it's not. I'm not going to let you die."_

_The brunette's brow furrows. "Then what are you going to do?"_

_"I'm going to send you away," she breathes, "somewhere really far, but somewhere where you'll still be alive."_

_"Are you coming too?"_

_Emma bites her tongue, hard. "I can't."_

_"Oh please," a voice says from behind her and she whips around, ending up face to face with a Regina more the age she knows her – only this one's clad in tight black leather, with dramatic eye makeup and a sneer on her face. "You could if you really wanted to – but you don't. You're happily shipping me off to hell and keeping my son for yourself."_

_Emma's mouth falls open. "That's not…Regina I –"_

_"Oh don't bother, Emma," she rolls her eyes, "why don't you just kill me and have done with it? It would be much simpler."_

_The blonde begins to panic slightly – this isn't how it's meant to go. She was meant to find Regina's soul and cast it out and then it was meant to be over. Not this, she looks down and sees white tendrils of light starting to curl around her. Then her head snaps up again. "You're not Regina," she realizes aloud "you're just the spell."_

_The Queen Regina smirks. "Clever girl. Regina isn't in here anymore – she's gone. So either do the same, or stay in here and lose your mind too." She raises an eyebrow. "Now wouldn't that be romantic?"_

_Emma shakes her head. "No, no she's still in here somewhere. I know she is."_

_The leather-clad woman glowers at her. "And how do you propose to prove that?"_

_The blonde stares at her feet, mind working fast, then her head snaps up again, face set in determination._

_"Regina?" she calls, deliberately avoiding looking at the Queen. "Regina – if you're still here – then I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I doubted you, and I'm sorry that I hurt you, and I'm sorry for every word I've ever spoken against you – because the truth is that you and Henry are the best things in my life and I should have realized," she takes a large gulp of air, trying to breath around the emotion clogging her throat, coughing down the tears that want to fall._

_"I should have realized so much earlier," she admits, "realized how much I love you – and I should have told you. I should have been telling you every day – but you know me," she shrugs, giving another watery grin, "I'm an idiot."_

_There's silence, a long weighted moment of it. Then a voice reaches her._

_"You're my idiot."_

_Emma's head turns to her right, where the voice came from. Regina's there, _her_ Regina. The sharply dressed mayor, looking unimpressed as ever – though there's a softness to her expression. But whereas the other two Regina's had been clear, in focus, this one's a little blurry – and there's a strange blue glow around her._

_"Regina I –" she starts but the brunette cuts her off._

_"Emma, it's okay. I know why you're here."_

_"You do?"_

_"I'm not as stupid as you are."_

_Emma laughs despite herself. "Dying, and you still can't let one go?"_

_Regina smirks. "You wouldn't love me if I could."_

_The blonde blushes. "You heard that?"_

_She nods, giving her a gentle smile. "I heard everything."_

_Emma takes a step forward but Regina backs away. "Emma, there isn't time," she says sadly, "if you're going to do this you have to do it now."_

_Emma frowns. She suddenly doesn't feel comfortable making this choice for the other woman. Not now that she has her here conscious – now she has to ask._

_"What do you want me to do?" she questions, petrified of the answer she's going to get._

_"I don't know," Regina whispers, then looks up – brown eyes wide, "Emma, I'm scared."_

_She wants to reach forward and touch the woman, but she's certain all her fingers will find is air. "If you let me do this – then I promise I won't abandon you," she says with surety. There must be some way to find her again once it's done._

_"You won't?"_

_"No," she shakes her head violently, "whatever happens, I'll find you."_

_Regina smirks. "Like father, like daughter."_

_The blonde is about to respond, but Regina carries on, "Alright then," she closes her eyes, swallowing nervously. "Do it."_

_A fresh wave of panic washes over her. "I don't even know if I can," she admits, voice small, "I don't know what I'm doing."_

_"Yes you do." _

_"I don't, Regina. I should have listened, I should have learnt to control it and now I'm just going to end up killing you I –"_

_"Emma," she cuts her off calmly, "you know what you're doing – otherwise you wouldn't be inside my head."_

_She hesitates – that's kind of true – but surely that was the easy bit?_

_"What if I screw it up?" _

_"You won't screw it up, Emma," the brunette replies with conviction, "you're so much more than you give yourself credit for."_

_Emma shuts her eyes at the reassurance, taking a long breath. "Regina I –" but when she opens her eyes the other woman's gone, and she's alone in the blinding white._

_Only she's not alone, there's a tiny ball of blue light hovering in the air – almost invisible against the white – but definitely there._

_The blonde's suddenly absolutely certain she knows what a soul looks like. _

_She steps forward and wraps her hands carefully around the ball of light, trying not to panic. Fred said she had to tear the soul away, so that's what she'll do. _

_She tugs sharply and then all she can hear is screaming._

_Emma holds the tiny light close to her for a second, breathing heavy, then does what she did to get here in the first place._

_She thinks of what she wants to happen, thinks of why she's doing it – who she's protecting – and then the light is flung away from her, disappearing into the whiteness._

_There's a second of stillness and then she feels herself being flung backwards, mind tearing from Regina's and back into her own body with a wave-like force._

.

.

.

Emma's eyes fly open just in time to feel her body being flung backwards too, hands wrenched away from the ones that Kathryn and Fred have had wrapped around them. She scrambles off the ground quickly, just in time to see the white ball of light at the center of the circle collapsing in on itself.

The gnomes explode, raining pieces of painted china all around the garden.

The blonde doesn't pay them much attention though, instead she's stumbling forwards to where Regina's body has been thrown, lying limply on the snow-sprinkled grass.

She's so exhausted she can barely stand, and she ends up having to crawl the remaining distance to the brunette, turning her over gently when she does.

She knows she's not in there, but it's still Regina – and this is all she has left of her. She pulls Regina's head into her lap, cradling it to her. She can't quite wrap her head around what she's just done – around the fact that Regina's gone.

Fred and Kathryn jog over to her, both looking a little exhausted themselves – and she wonders how much energy what she just did actually took.

"What now?" she gasps out, eyes fixed on Regina's still face, unable to look up at the other two. "What do we do?"

From the corner of her eye she sees Fred look around, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think we do anything."

She does look up then. "What?"

"It looks like shutting the breach broke the anchors – and without the anchors, the spirits'll be lost," he shrugs.

"Anchors?" Emma asks, glancing down to Regina's face – as if she might spot some sign of life in it – and then back up again.

"The gnomes," Fred replies, as if it's obvious, "did you think they were there just for decoration?"

Emma's mouth fall into a little 'o'. She'd known the gnomes were significant – that's what led her to Kathryn – but she'd never stopped to think _why_.

"So the gnomes…" she trails off, looking around at the pieces of shattered china, thumb stroking subconsciously across Regina's cooling cheek.

"Anchor the spirits to this world," Fred explains, "without an anchor the spirits can't take corporeal form. The anchor's what makes them what you see – the children. Without the anchors they're just scattered energy."

The blonde frowns, pulling Regina closer into her. "I thought that's what the channel was for?"

"The channel is the path," Fred says patiently, "but the spirits need something inanimate that will bind them to the land they're on whilst there – or else they'll just sorta dissipate."

"And that's what the gnomes are?" Emma asks, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

"Yeah," Fred nods.

"Why gnomes?" Kathryn asks, folding her arms across herself.

Fred shrugs. "It doesn't have to be gnomes – it could be grains of sand if you wanted but Lilly –"

"Has a flair for the dramatic," the woman interrupts him, sounding unimpressed, "yeah, yeah, we get that bit."

Emma's stopped paying attention, eyes turning back to Regina's face. She needs to know what to do next.

"Fred?" she asks, and he comes to kneel beside her.

"What d'you need?"

"Tell me what I do now," she whispers, "tell me how to get her back."

The man's eyebrows rise towards his shaggy hair. "Get her…Emma you can't get her _back_."

Her head snaps up, green eyes locking onto gray. She must have heard him wrong. "What did you say?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "I mean…look, if her soul even made it, then she's in Aeternum. The only way out is a summoning."

"You got out," she shoots back quickly, aware that her heart rate has begun to race again, "you and Lilly."

"That's because we're Shifters – the oldest and strongest spirits. We have the ability to assume human form and portal jump to find places suitable for our brothers and sisters to feed. But there's no way a new spirit could."

Emma's hands freeze around Regina's body. "Then…what? We summon them, we find her," she says, brow creasing as she stares from Fred to Regina and back.

"Emma a summoning is exactly what we just stopped."

Her head starts shaking of its own accord, throat feeling tight. "No, no, there's…there has to be something else. Some way just to pull her through. There must be a spell or –"

"Emma there's no way to even know if she's still alive. I told you – no adult's ever been to Aeternum, her soul might have just burnt up."

"No!" she screams, surprising herself by the ferocity in it. "She's alive. She's out there and we have to…" oh god is she crying? She can't cry, she's got to keep it together. "We have to find her," her words are choked with the tears that seem intent on spilling from her, "we have to get her back," it's a desperate breath as it hits her.

What Fred's saying, what she's actually _done_.

She thought she was saving her, thought she was keeping her alive – but what if despite all that she's just killed her anyway? Or, worse, condemned her to an eternity as one of those _things_. There's a venomous rage boiling inside her, and in a moment she's dropped Regina's limp body and tackled Fred to the ground.

"You son of a bitch," she growls, pounding a fist into his chest. "You absolute." Punch. "Fucking." Punch. "Son of a." Punch. "_Bitch_," she cries.

Kathryn reaches out and tries to pull her away, but she shakes her off. "No!" she screams. "No! This is his _fault_. If it hadn't been for him none of this would ever have happened!"

She lands a punch to his jaw – right where she had earlier – and he winces.

"Emma this isn't going help," Kathryn says, sounding a little scared.

She's not really thinking straight – else she probably wouldn't be doing this at all – but she doesn't care. All she can see is Regina's large, scared eyes. All she can hear is her own promise to find her.

"You made me lie to her." she snarls, though the tears finally spilling from her eyes make it less angry and more pathetic. "I promised her I'd find her."

She attempts to hit him again but she feels weak and instead her hands just end up slapping him without much force. She's practically hyperventilating now anyway, and instead of continuing in her vain attempt to make him feel as much pain as she is, she drags herself off him and crawls back to Regina's body.

She hears him get up behind her, start to move cautiously towards her. "Emma I –"

"Don't," she snaps, "just don't. Leave me alone."

"Em –"

"Just get away from me!" she yells. "Both of you just – just get away from me."

She knows – on some level – that she's being a little irrational. That she's really angry at herself – for doing this to Regina, for making a promise she apparently can't keep. She's disgusted with herself that she's the reason the woman she loves is just a lifeless shell in her arms.

Kathryn certainly doesn't deserve her rage – but just at this moment she can't quite bring herself to care.

She can see Fred hovering to her left, one hand holding his ribs, eyes fixed on her. She won't look at him though, she can't look at him.

"Come on, Fred," she hears Kathryn say.

"But –"

"Leave her. She wants to be alone," the other woman says a little firmer – and then Emma sees her wrap a hand around his elbow and pull him away, leaving her to the quiet of her own gasping sobs.

.

.

.

She's not sure how long she sits there, Regina's limp head cradled in her lap. She knows that she cries for a while – until she can't cry anymore – and then she just feels empty. She doesn't sleep though. Instead she sits there and stares out into the forest, hand stroking through Regina's hair, until the moon disappears and the sky slowly starts to lighten again.

She barely notices when someone enters the garden. She certainly doesn't realize how stiff she is until someone's pulling her up from the frozen ground. She doesn't know who it is, but she doesn't want to be moved. She tries to fight.

"Hey, hey! Emma, it's okay." The shock of hearing Ruby's voice is enough to stop her struggling a bit. "It's okay, Em, shh, it's okay."

She turns in the arms that are holding her, meeting the waitress' eye. Ruby's face is soft and sympathetic – something she hasn't seen directed at her for weeks.

"Rubes?" she asks, voice hoarse. "What're you doing here?"

"Stopping you from getting hypothermia," she says simply, eyebrows raised.

"But –"

"Kathryn and Fred told us what happened," she explains, helping Emma stabilize herself on her stiff legs. "There's EMTs out front, they need to collect…I mean they have to pick…look I told them I wanted to check on you first."

Emma blinks down at the body lying on the ground next to her. "They're her to take her away," she says, and it's not a question.

Ruby nods anyway, apologetic. "She can't stay here."

"I don't want them taking her to the hospital," she mumbles, voice barely above a whisper, "I don't want her there."

Ruby frowns. "Then where –"

"Her crypt," Emma says, an idea springing to her mind. "I want to take her to her crypt."

Ruby looks skeptical, but nods. "Alright, if that's what you want."

"It is, that's what I want."

The girl folds her arms across her chest. "Can I ask why?"

Emma meets her questioning gaze, resolve building within her. "No. Not yet I just…I just need some time."

She frowns again, but throws her hands up in supplication. "Okay then," she agrees, "I'll go and get the guys."

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

By the time she gets home she feels wiped, empty. She feels like there's a part of her missing. She walks into the quiet hallway, kicks off her shoes, and rounds the corner – half expecting Regina to be standing there, smirking at her.

She isn't though, it's dark, and empty. Sort of the way her chest feels. She walks over to the couch and perches in the middle, elbows on her knees, nestling her face into her palms.

She can hear Ruby hovering in the doorway, but can't be bothered to tell her to sit. Instead she just closes her eyes and tries not to think about how hollow she feels. How _alone_.

The last time she spoke to her parents – really spoke to them – she'd been screaming in her mother's face. Jefferson's in the hospital – Ruby hadn't had any news on him, so for all she knows he could be _dead_. Ashley certainly is – and she can't imagine Thomas will ever want to speak to her again. Ruby's there, but they've been so distant lately it barely feels the same, and then there's Kathryn, who probably hates her guts for everything she's put her through. Her only other friends are Lilly and Fred. She laughs at herself. She wouldn't want to see them even if she could – but according to Ruby, Fred had turned himself in and was locked up at the station. And Lilly, Lilly was in the wind. The redhead had apparently fled as soon as she saw the first gnome shatter.

It's not like she's a big friends person. Until she'd moved to Storybrooke she hadn't really _had_ any friends – but she's gotten terribly used to it. She's gotten used to having people around her to share the load and, worst of all, she's gotten used to having a shoulder to cry on.

Regina's shoulder.

She's somehow managed to push away everyone she cares about – and the one person she'd have turned to in that situation isn't there. It's like having a chair pulled out from under her. Only she's still in that moment of panic – suspended in the air with nothing holding her up – and she can only imagine what'll happen when she hits the ground.

.

.

.

She sits silently for a long time – Ruby leaving her to her thoughts. This doesn't feel real, any of it. She feel like she's dreaming, like her body isn't her own. Her mind feels slow and lagging. She's trying to process, desperately, her brain just isn't obliging.

Emma feels the couch dip as someone sits down next to her – and she assumes it's Ruby – until a familiar male voice greats her.

"Hey," Thomas says, and her head snaps up. He looks broken, and hollowed – just like she feels – but he's _there_. What's more he doesn't look like he's there to shout out her, and she can't quite wrap her head around that.

She wants to say something, but she can't quite find the words. He puts a hand on her knee and then her eyes meet his. There's understanding in them, a shared sense of loss and grief.

"Tom I –" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"You don't have to." His eyes are tortured, but there's something softer in them too. He holds her gaze for a long moment, finally offering up a tiny, mournful smile. He doesn't need to speak for her to understand what it means.

He doesn't blame her. That's what he's saying – with both his eyes and his presence. They're grieving, both of them, and he understands she's just gone through the same thing as he has.

She doesn't know what she did to deserve that loyalty, but she appreciates it. Endlessly.

The couch dips on her other side as Thomas retracts his hand again, and Ruby's sitting there. The girls snakes an arm around her, lowing her head to Emma's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Em," she whispers, and the blonde just nods.

They sit there in silence for what feels like forever, but realistically is probably only a few minutes. Then there's the sound of footsteps and she looks up to see her parents walking in, Kathryn trailing a few steps behind them. She stares incredulously as they move past to sit down opposite her, wordlessly, and remain that way.

For once her mother isn't saying anything, she just sits there, David by her side.

Emma doesn't quite understand what they're doing – if they're about to stage an intervention or maybe start yelling at her one by one. Then her mother shoots her a look full of sympathy and love and it finally hits her. They're just being there for her. That's it.

That's why there's no questions, or accusations or _talking_.

They're all just _there_.

It's all she ever wanted from her parents, all she ever needed from them, and finally – in this moment when her world feels like it's crumbling – they're trying. Not trying the way they think it should be done, but trying the way she needs them too.

A grateful warmth spreads through her chest, and she looks up to meet her mother's gaze.

"It'll be okay," she murmurs, "I know it doesn't feel like it, but it'll be okay."

"You're here," is all Emma can manage.

Her mother looks genuinely shocked. "Of course we are."

"But we argued."

"Family does that on occasion," David smiles at her. "It doesn't mean we don't love you."

"Besides which," Snow grimaces, "it's me who owes you an apology."

Emma's eyes widen slightly.

"Everything you said to me – you're right. I have been acting terribly. I just felt guilty."

"Why?" the blonde asks, not quite daring to hope that the answer is what she's been praying to hear.

"Because I was going to abandon you again." Emma's eyes fall closed at the confession. "Because I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to have another child. I want to try again, Emma, and I was foolishly trying to make sure you were independent enough before I did. I forgot for a moment that that's not what you need. You're capable enough on your own – what you need from me is support and I need you to know that I know that. I just…forgot, for a little while. I just felt guilty."

She looks up to meet the other woman's gaze again. "You felt guilty?"

"You have no idea how much."

"So you're…you're really sorry? About what happened in Neverland?" This is the conversation they should have had instead of the shouting match. The conversation they should have had _months_ ago. It's the conversation that Emma desperately needed, and it's so much better late than never.

"I am," her mother replies, voice full of sincerity. Full of apology. "I'm sorry."

Emma breathes a long sigh of relief, her aching heart easing just fractionally. "Thank you," she whispers.

The other woman reaches out to rub a gentle thumb across her knee. "It'll get better," she promises.

"Will it?" she asks, the words tormented. "It doesn't feel like it will."

"I know. But it will. Eventually the pain will fade and one day you'll wake up and find that you're okay again. That you're ready to love again."

Emma startles, blinking at her mother in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, honey, I'm sure Regina would want you to find love again eventually."

She stares at her mother, incredulous. "But how do you…when did you…I never –" she splutters, but she's cut off by another voice.

"When are you going to realize that everyone was onto you two?"

Her eyes snap to the source of the sound and her heart lifts slightly to see Jefferson – Henry and Grace in tow – looking gray and emaciated, yet still so very _alive_.

"Jefferson? You're alive?"

"So far," he jokes, "turns out it's not that easy to get rid of me after all."

Henry steps out from behind him, then makes a beeline across the room and climbs wordlessly into Emma's lap. She lets out a little 'oof' as his body slams into hers, wrapping his limbs around her and burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"Hey there, kiddo," she whispers, dropping a kiss into his hair.

"Is it really true?" he mumbles into her. "Is she really dead?"

Emma screws her eyes shut, wrapping her own arms tightly around her little boy. "I'm sorry, Henry. I'm so sorry."

He doesn't say anything else, but she feels his body shake in her arms as he sobs, feels the wetness of his tears on her shoulder.

The room descends back into silence, the only noise Henry's occasional sniffle. If Emma hadn't cried herself out so completely in Kathryn's garden she'd probably shed more tears along with him – if only for the sight of seeing her son in such pain. Eventually his sobs begin to subside though, and he simply buries himself deeper into her arms.

Emma strokes her hands down his back, looking back up to where Jefferson has situated himself in an armchair. "What do you mean everyone was onto us?" she asks, unable to quell her curiosity.

"He means everyone knew that you and mom were dating," Henry mumbles, lifting his tear-stained face to look at her. Even through his grief, there's a knowing look on his face that's so Regina it makes her already aching heart spasm with pain.

"But…we weren't dating," she states.

"It's okay, Emma," her father reassures her. "We had our problems with her - but at the end of the day we were just happy you were happy."

The blonde's mouth falls open in shock. "Wait," she says, "you guys _all_ thought we were dating?"

"Well duh," Ruby elbows her, "why'd you think I've been so mad at you?"

"Because I was…dating Regina?" she asks, unsure.

"Because you didn't _tell _me you were dating her!" the girl exclaims. "I was angry that I had to hear it from someone else – and that when I called you on it you still wouldn't tell me. Even though everyone knew."

"But," she frowns, "who did you hear it from?"

"From Milla."

Emma blinks. "_What_?"

"The day before the party I was talking to Milla and she mentioned that Obie had seen you guys," her eyes flick down briefly to Henry's head where it's returns to Emma's shoulder "well. _You know_," she mouths.

She stares at her, slack jawed. "That's…that's not even true!" she exclaims, confused. She casts her mind back, trying to understand why Obie might have had reason to say such a thing. Then she realizes – the memory of a scared teenager stammering that something was happening, that it had all started three days ago. On the 18th of November. Ashley had never given her an exact date on the day everything had started happening to her – but she's suddenly positive it, too, was on the 18th. Obie had seen something, but what he'd seen was Regina and _Ashley_, not Regina and her. She can hardly tell them that though, not with Thomas sitting right beside her.

"He must have just got it wrong."

"Hang on," David frowns, "are you saying that you guys _weren't_ dating?" he almost sounds disappointed, and Emma has to blink a couple of times to try and get a grip on this whole situation.

"No, we weren't."

It's her mother's brow that creases this time. "So you didn't love her then?"

"No I did," she replies quickly, and then stops short, breath catching in her throat. "I _do_."

"But you weren't dating –" Ruby starts to ask

"But they were in love," Jefferson finishes for her, fixing Emma with a hard look. It's a look that says he sees right through her, knows exquisitely all the pain she's trying to hide away. It's also a look that says sorry.

"They didn't need to date," Henry pipes up again, voice scratchy from tears, "we were already a family."

Emma swears she feels her heart shatter. From the looks of everyone else in the room she'd say theirs have too. Even Kathryn – lurking nervously in the corner.

"I'm sorry, Emma," her mother says once more, terribly gently, and Emma takes a shaky breath. She might not have any tears left, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still feel like crying. She feels like curling in on herself and disappearing into her grief. Henry burrows deeper into her, and all she can do is tighten her grip on him – reassure him that she's still there.

There's nothing more for anyone to say. No words left. She wonders if this means they might leave her to the loneliness of her pain, but none of them show any signs of moving – nor any desire to. Instead they all just seem to settle more comfortably into their seats. Jefferson in his armchair, Grace sitting at his feet. Her parents opposite her, hands twined together in joint sorrow for their child. Kathryn curled into a chair behind them, nails between her teeth. Ruby to her right, hand stroking Emma's knee absently, and Thomas to her left – head in his hands as he appears to re-descend into his own private mourning.

Somehow, inexplicably, her people are there for her. Despite how she might have failed them, how she might have hurt them. They're there, and they're sharing this moment with her, this heartache. Her pain is exquisite, and whatever her mother might say she really can't imagine it getting any lesser. But right now, in this specific moment with all her people around her – it's just slightly more bearable.

And for that, she knows she will never be able to thank them enough.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

**TWO MONTHS LATER**

It takes many, many attempts – not to mention a lot of fruit – to get the preservation spell right. Once she does though, she wastes no time before rushing over to the crypt and casting it, protecting Regina's still body with a shimmering blue barrier.

She doesn't tell anyone she's doing it – afraid they'll try and get her to let it go. Jefferson only finds out because he's Jefferson and he's a nosy bastard. He doesn't try to stop her though, in fact he's surprisingly chilled about the whole thing. Simply gets this funny smirk when she takes him down to the crypt and shows him.

After that she keeps it her secret though.

She doesn't tell Henry – he's suffering enough and she doesn't want to give the kid false hope.

After that she falls into a strange new normal, not outwardly grieving, but not quite herself either. She finds that being herself isn't easy, not when – the longer she goes without even having had a conversation with Regina – she feels _less_ of herself.

Work quiets down eventually. The final appearance of the children had wreaked havoc all over town – apparently telling panicking citizens their only chance of survival is fire wasn't actually the smartest public service announcement ever issued. There's also the issue of all the people who'd been touched. Most of them seem to be recovering, Jefferson included – their strength returning to them day by day. But some of them don't make it. A few were already practically dead when the breach was closed, but others teetered around on the edge between life and death with everyone unsure as to which way they were going to turn. Some just take longer to recover their strength, and it's unsure whether they ever _really_ will.

No one knows.

The manhunt for Lilly had been the most pressing concern, and it had given Emma fuel to go on. A revenge fuelled fire burning in her veins.

But when they'd eventually found her – hiding in one of her boats, laughing hysterically to herself – and thrown her into a padded cell in the asylum, the fire had fizzled out.

They might have Lilly and Fred in custody, they might both be destined to never see the light of day again, but it doesn't give her the satisfaction she'd thought it would.

Instead she ends up just feeling hollow again. A little apathetic. She doesn't really know how much longer she can go on in this pattern. It's killing her – but she doesn't see any way of breaking it either, has no real desire to.

.

.

.

"And Henry's getting real good at riding," she says conversationally to the still figure lying on the stone slab. "He's been doing a lot more after school lately – I guess to take his mind off, well, you know. But I went to see him the other day and...well, he's really good," she smiles proudly, "flies over these giant jumps like you wouldn't believe. I wish you could see him."

Regina would probably laugh at her if she could see what she was doing – call her an idiot – but somehow Emma doesn't care.

She knows, logically, that it's pointless. Regina isn't in there – she saw to that herself. Everything that the woman is is far away in a strange spirit realm. If she's even there at all. All what's here is what Fred called it – a shell. But it's a shell that Emma's very attached to – because even if Regina herself isn't in there anymore, it's undeniable that her body was still a pretty integral part of who she was. And it's what Emma's got left – all she's got left – so of course she's going to treasure it.

"Jefferson went back to work today," she continues, "I know you probably don't care about that – but it's a good thing. He's doing good, and so many people didn't make it that…well it's good."

She moves her head to rest on her arms where they're folded on the stone.

"Also I think my parents might be trying to get pregnant," she admits after a long pause. "I mean they haven't said anything – but they're both acting really weird. Plus my mother's been looking at baby clothes a lot lately. She thinks I don't notice, but I've caught her staring through shop windows at onesies like ten times in the last two weeks."

She drums her fingers on the cold stone, musing to herself. "I don't mind. They deserve to try again if that's what they want – and they're trying their best with me as well so it's not like they're forgetting I'm their child too or anything. I'm happy for them."

Her fingers pick up speed in their agitated rhythm. "Okay so I'm a little jealous too. They're getting another chance, of course I'm going to be jealous. They're going to have another kid and they'll be the perfect family they always hoped me and them would be – and I want that. I want my disgustingly perfect little family, okay? I want you and me and Henry to be a disgustingly perfect little family. Hell, maybe we could have another one. A little girl or something. We could raise her to be a perfect little nerd girl like Grace, and she could be the only person alive that could beat Henry at Mario Kart.

"Or she could be really girly. She could have a bedroom full of dolls and my little ponies and everything that I wanted when I was five years old. And Henry could be her overly protective big brother who beat up the bullies for her. He'd be a good big brother, don't you think?"

Emma lifts her gaze to stare at Regina's serene face, scrubbing a hand over her stinging eyes.

"I just need to get you back – and then we can have all that, Regina. We can have our own sickeningly sweet life. We can make my parents jealous with how perfect we are. You just have to come back."

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she fishes it out, sighing when she sees a text from Thomas demanding her presence at the station. Something about Archie, Leroy, and a fake mermaid tail.

"Crap," she mutters, "I gotta go."

She stands up and shrugs her jacket back on, tapping out a quick reply to Thomas and then slipping her phone back into her pocket.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she promises as she heads for the door. When she reaches it she turns back again, staring at the lifeless form before her. "I, erm, well you know," she says, like she always does – it's hard to say it these days. Not because it's any less true. Just because it hurts. Then turns and heads back up the stairs.

.

.

.

When she finally gets in again it's to an empty house, her footsteps echoing through the foyer – making it sound about as hollow as her heart feels. Henry's almost certainly with Jefferson and Grace – he's been spending more and more time over there lately. She can't really blame him, the kid's got to deal in whatever way he can.

She walks up the stairs wearily, throwing herself face first down onto the large white bed. It worries her that it hardly smells like Regina anymore, and she wonders idly if maybe she should start sleeping at her house, to preserve what's left of the woman whose room this is. But sleeping here helps her feel close to the other woman, memories of the one perfect night they got to spend together before everything turned to hell always feeling fresher in the room where it happened.

She pulls herself off the bed – she needs to take a shower. She might be hopeless and unable to let go but she's not completely pathetic. She still has standards. She's not Bella fucking Swan – she's capable of functioning without her love at her side.

She cooks and she cleans. She goes to work and she makes sure Henry does his homework. She goes through all the motions of living life like a totally normal human being – it's just that it feels wrong going about them without her son's other mother. Dysfunctional or not, they were a family of three, and they just don't work as well as a two. Neither of them work as well without Regina keeping them in order.

The blonde rustles around in the duffle bag she keeps on the chair, looking for clean clothes – but there aren't any. She curses under her breath, she's gonna have to drive to her house and pick up some more.

A part of her says she should just decide to live at one place or the other. But choosing either option would feel like completely accepting Regina wasn't coming back, and she's not ready to do that. She doesn't know if she'll ever be ready.

.

.

.

When she pulls up outside her house she feels strange. There's something in the air that she can't quite put her finger on, but it makes her shiver nonetheless. She shakes it off and walks up the steps to the front door, past the mailbox and the overgrowing bushes and the little gnome sitting by the slowly sprouting daffodils, and puts her keys in the door.

Then she freezes.

She doesn't have a little gnome.

She takes two steps backwards, staring down at the unoffending china statue, and her heart leaps into her throat.

This one's different from any of those she'd seen in the winter. Whereas they had looked like your common-or-garden lawn ornament – painted in bright primary colors – this one's clothed in all black.

Emma reaches out a shaking hand, completely aware of how stupid that may or may not be – and tentatively brushes her fingers across the polished china surface.

An image flashes across her vision – a dark, screaming image – and she pulls her hand away as if burnt, shaking. She's sure she knows what she saw, but then again her brain isn't very reliable, so she has to check. She reaches out again, trying to control the quaking of her fingers, and presses her fingers more firmly against the smooth surface.

It's dark, really dark, but in that darkness there's a face. A face she knows, a face she loves. But it's screaming and in pain and it wants to get out. It's desperate to escape.

Emma jerks her hand away again, panting.

_Regina_.

.

.

.

"You lied to me," Emma snaps as soon as the cell door closes behind her.

Fred looks up from where he's playing chess against himself, brow furrowing. "About what."

"About whether she'd survive."

The man looks startled. "I said I didn't know what would happen – that's the truth."

"The how do you explain this?" she places the bag with the gnome in carefully on the table. She'd like to slam it down, but she can't let it break – this is her one connection to Regina. Her one clue that the woman's alive.

Fred's eyes widen. "Shit, is that an anchor?"

"You tell me."

He reaches out carefully to touch it, then jerks his hand back much the same as Emma did.

"That's impossible," he breathes.

"Well clearly not."

"No, Emma," he shakes his head, "anchors are only active if they have an active link to Aeternum,"

Her eyebrows knit together. "You mean…?"

"The breach would still have to be open."

"But…but I closed it. _She_ closed it. That was the whole point of sending her through!" Emma feels her heart beginning to pound in a strange mixture of terror and hope.

There's a dark chuckle from the other side of the room and Emma starts as Lilly emerges from the shadow – she's about to pull her gun when she realizes the redhead's in straightjacket, chained to the wall behind her.

"You were never good at lore, Freddie boy," she laughs, "never paid attention to the details."

Emma turns on her. "Lilly what do you know?" she asks, eyes burning.

She considers for a moment. "What's in it for me?"

The blonde tilts her head to the side, pretending to think. "How about," she suggests, drawing her gun and marching over to the other woman, "I don't put a bullet in your brain."

Lilly stares her down, unintimidated. "Go ahead. It's nothing to me if you don't get your precious queen back."

Emma lets out a low growl. "What do you want, Lilly?"

The redhead continues to stare her down, but something in her eyes softens. "Let Fred go. Let my brother out of here – and I'll tell you what you need to know."

The blonde pushes her gun against the other woman's head. "Don't mess with me."

"I'm not," she says simply, sounding disconcertingly sincere, "I'll give you the information you need if you promise to let Freddie out of here."

She's sure it must be a trick – that she'd never settle for something so simple – but then she thinks back to Fred's story. Lilly had wanted to do the summoning as soon as the curse had broken, but Fred had been content in the life they had so she'd agreed they wouldn't. To keep Fred happy.

Emma's eyes widen slightly. It appears Lilly does love her brother, truly, and for that she might just tell the truth.

"Okay," she agrees, levelling a glare at the redhead, "I'll let Fred go if you tell me what I need. And I'll keep him cuffed beside me – and then when and only when I have Regina back again, I'll take those cuffs off. But if you lie to me – I'll throw him straight back down here."

Lilly glares at her, looking furious, but eventually she nods. "Deal."

Emma breathes a little internal sigh of relief, not quite believing that that actually seems to have worked.

"Good," she snaps, "now tell me what I need to know."

Lilly's expression turns smug, and sits back down on her bed, nestling into the dark corner.

"It's fairly obvious really – if you think about it."

The blonde glares at her. "Not to me it isn't. So spill – everything."

"You sent Regina's soul through the breach, correct?"

"Yeah – to make it close up."

Lilly laughs, "Only that's not quite how it works. It collapses in itself, yes, and most of the time it would close up too."

"But…not in this case?"

She shakes her head. "It couldn't close properly – because Regina's soul is still tethered here."

"What? What to?"

Lilly rolls her eyes, "To you. Obviousy."

She blinks, not quite comprehending. "What are you talking about?"

"Think of it like a rope," the redhead explains, in a voice so patronizing Emma wants to slap her, "you're tied to one end, Regina's tied to the other."

Emma just stares at her, confused, and Lilly gives an exasperated sigh.

"Like soul mates."

Oh.

_Oh_.

"You mean like…" she starts, not quite able to process that little bit of information.

"Mommy and Daddy?" Lilly asks with a satisfied smirk. "All that True Love crap, exactly – only where I'm from we call soul mates. Everyone has different names for it, but it's all the same concept."

"Regina's my True Love?" she asks, incredulous, but she can't help the tiny amazed laugh that falls from her mouth.

Lilly lets out a breath of irritation. "It would appear so – sickening as the whole thing might be."

"And that means I can, what, pull her back?" she knows she shouldn't let it, but hope is beginning to pool in her stomach, to travel up and fill the hole that's been in her heart.

"Possibly," she admits, "in theory if you pulled her back through then the breach would close up completely after her – the question is how to pull her back."

Emma levels another glare at her. "And do you know the answer to that question?"

The redhead grins. "Oh I do – but I'm afraid that that information has a whole different price."

.

.

.

"This is a bad idea," Jefferson says, for about the thousandth time. "A really, really bad idea."

"Jefferson?" Emma replies – also for about the thousandth time – as she leads a handcuffed Lilly beside her into Kathryn's back garden.

"Yes?"

"Shut _up_."

He grumbles, but does as he's asked, pushing Fred forwards in front of him.

"You with us, Rubes?" Emma calls over her shoulder, and the girl comes jogging up behind her – duffle bag slung over her arm.

"With you," she replies, "though for the record I would like to say I'm also with Jefferson on the issue at hand – weird as that feeling is."

Jefferson shoots her a wink and she makes a little disgusted noise.

"Also – and I know I've already said this – but it is really creepy that you are just keeping Regina's body lying around. I mean, I thought you'd have at least buried her or something."

Emma rolls her eyes. "And then where would we be?" she asks, feeling a little irritated – though that's less Ruby and more the nervous anticipation flying around in her stomach.

The girl doesn't answer, just shakes her head.

They walk into the garden and over to where unmistakable scorch marks still burn the grass from where the breach was – or still is, apparently.

"Ruby get the stuff out," Emma instructs, then turns Lilly around roughly to face her. "I'm getting Regina out, and then if there's time we're gonna shove your sorry ass back through. But if you're playing me – don't hesitate to think that I _will_ kill your brother."

Lilly simply smirks. "I'm not playing you this time, Emma. This particular game of mine has drawn to a close."

The blonde narrows her eyes – but for all she can tell, the redhead's telling the truth.

Ruby's at her elbow then, looking disgustedly at the things in her hands.

"This is so messed up," she mumbles, handing the small jar of red liquid to Emma.

"For god's sake Ruby, it's only blood. You've drunk enough of it, haven't you?"

The waitress gets a distinctly affronted look on her face. "I'm a wolf, Emma – not a vampire."

Emma shrugs. "You still ate people."

Ruby grumbles in irritation, handing over the large silver bowl. "What else?" she asks.

"We need the dittany," Lilly answers, "and the yew."

She ruffles through the duffle bag and comes up with a sprig of yew and a small packet of powder. "These?"

Lilly hums in the affirmative. "Put them in the bowl – and Regina's blood."

"Hey, hey, I don't take orders from you," she snaps.

Emma sighs, "Ruby just do what she tells you to."

Once she has, she holds the bowl out in front of Lilly. "You're really sure about this?" she asks Emma again.

The blonde takes a deep breath. "Yeah. I have to try."

Ruby nods, and hands over the knife.

Emma closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then she pushes up her sleeve and drags the cold blade up her arm, holding it over the bowl and letting the blood drip in and mix with everything else.

Lilly starts to chant, eyes falling closed.

The words are a mix of hissing and guttural sounds, a language Emma knows she's never heard before – and probably couldn't even hope to understand.

Fred comes to stand by her side, Jefferson holding him tightly by the arms. "Remember," he mutters quietly, as Lilly continues to chant, "when she comes through we don't know what she'll be – we don't know how much she'll have _changed_ – but even if she seems the exact same person who left, you still _mustn't_ touch her."

Emma gives him a little 'get on with it' gesture, they've gone through it a thousand times – and she understands every possible outcome.

Or at least she thinks she does.

She's gotten so used to missing the woman that she thinks she's got the wanting under control. Then the ingredients in the bowl start to bubble and the air over the scorch mark starts to ripple and distort – and before she can even worry about what's happening there's an achingly familiar figure stepping out of thin air into Kathryn's garden.

"Regina," she breathes, heart skipping to her throat as the brunette steps into full view. There's something not quite right about her. She's more like the young Regina she met in the woman's mind, and there's a deeply tortured look about her that makes Emma's stomach twist. There's a hint of something unhinged there, something deeply, deeply wrong. But then her gaze flickers upwards and their eyes meets and goddammit they're still _Regina's_ eyes – dark and soulful and full of emotion.

"Emma?" she breathes, taking a step forwards – at which all assembled automatically take a step back.

The younger Regina frowns, then looks down at her hands and up again, understanding flashing over her face. "Oh. Right," she breathes.

There's a clatter as Lilly throws the bowl to the ground. "And that would be my cue to exit," she says matter-of-factly.

She steps over to Fred, reaching up on her tip toes and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Be good, little brother," she smirks, and then she's walking forwards, heading for the rippling patch of air.

"Wait!" Emma calls, unable to dispel her curiosity. "One thing. I don't understand why you helped me."

Lilly turns to look at her over her shoulder. "I told you – this game's over. You won it."

"And you're just…okay with that?" she asks – fully aware she should probably just let it go, yet she can't.

The redhead's still present smirk blooms into a wicked grin. "I lost this game, Emma Swan. Doesn't mean I don't still have plenty more to play."

With that she steps into the ever-shrinking patch of undulating air and disappears. A few moments later, the disturbance of air does too.

Emma lets out a low breath of relief – and then turns to Regina. The woman – or _girl_, since she barely looks twenty – is staring at her, adoration in her dark eyes.

"Emma," she whispers, and she hears Jefferson sigh behind her.

"We'll wait in the car, shall we?" he asks, pulling Fred back across the garden. Ruby hesitates, looking suspiciously at Regina.

"We'll be right round the front, Emma," she reassures, then heads after Jefferson and Fred.

The blonde takes a careful step forward – she really hadn't anticipated how hard it would be to _not_ touch the brunette once she was back.

"You can't touch me," Regina breathes looking as unhappy about that as Emma feels.

"I know," she replies, voice barely above a whisper, "I'm just so glad you're back."

Regina smiles, though Emma really can't shake the thought of how there's something so deeply tortured in the back of her gaze. She can't help wondering exactly what it is she's been through – exactly what happened to her. At the same time that her eyes are the eyes the blonde knows – they're also really _not_. There's something even more than the torture and anguish in them, something cold. Emma's worried if she examines it too closely, it'll be terrifying.

"I want to touch you," the brunette breathes and Emma smiles sadly.

"The feeling's mutual."

"No," she shakes her head, expression grieved, "no, Emma, I want to _touch_ you."

"Oh…_oh_," Emma realizes, eyes widening. She takes an involuntary step backwards, not missing the way that hurt flashes across Regina's face.

The girl – because that's all she is, not quite the Regina that Emma knows – looks down at herself. Her eyes examine her hands like they're something foreign, disgust clouding her features. "I'm not really me, am I?"

Emma wants to disagree with her – but then she looks up and there's just something so very _wrong_ about her that she can't. It would be a lie. "No. I don't think you are."

Regina takes a ragged breath, face falling. Emma watches as her dark eyes roam up and down, drinking in everything about her. There's longing in her dark gaze, and love – it's shrouded by everything else, but still definitely there.

"You're still in there, though," Emma tells her, conviction in her tone.

The brunette raises an eyebrow. "You think so?"

"I'm positive."

She sighs sadly. "What good is that though? If I'm stuck like this?"

"It won't be forever," Emma tells her firmly, "I promise."

A hopeful look crosses the brunette's face. "It won't?"

She shakes her head. "I have your body Regina, I kept it safe – and we're gonna find a way to get you back into it."

She smirks, expression one that's so distinctly Regina that Emma could almost cry from relief. She's definitely in there. "Had to be a hero," she remarks. Beginning to sound more like herself.

Emma shrugs. "You wouldn't love me if I weren't."

Regina rolls her eyes then, this topic seemingly pulling more of _her_ out from wherever it's being suppressed. "Don't be an idiot. Of course I would."

Emma can't help the grin spreading across her face. "Would you love me if I wasn't an idiot?"

The brunette takes a careful step closer – as close as she can without fear of them brushing against each other – and Emma's suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of joy at the sight before her. Talking aboutthis is making Regina's eyes shine – with wit, and attitude, and love. Breaking through the anguish and burying it in warmth – however fleeting it may be.

"No, dear, I don't suppose I would."

Emma beams. The term of endearment sounds a little odd coming out of a Regina so much younger – but it's familiar, and _normal_, so she clings to it.

"We will find a way," Emma says firmly, capturing Regina's gaze with her own, determined one. "Whatever happens – I'm going to help you become you again."

Regina smiles – it's a little wistful, but at least this one's not tortured. "I hope you can."

"I _can_," she insists. "We can. We'll find a way."

She hates that they can't touch. That there's clearly so much going on beneath the surface here that she doesn't know and they're going to have to find a way to work through it. That finding a way for Regina to get back to herself again, to her correct body, seems like an impossible task.

This situation is so very far from perfect.

But she's spent two months without being able to talk to her, without being able to do something as simple as see her smile or look into her eyes – and so even if it isn't perfect – even if this isn't a permanent arrangement. For now, it's _enough_.

"What are you thinking?" Regina asks, almost shyly.

"I'm thinking that it's time we went home," she whispers.

The brunette looks a little startled. "You think that's a good idea?"

"I don't know," she replies honestly. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But what I do know is that I just want you home. I've _missed_ you," she admits, throat feeling a little tight.

Regina smiles. "I've missed you too." Both of them make as if they're about to reach for each other, before realizing that that's out of the question and stepping backwards.

It's awkward, but there's not much they can do about it. It's most likely going to be awkward – really awkward – until they can get Regina back to her normal self. In the meantime though, there still seems to be enough of Regina in the girl that Emma's already beginning to feel less empty again, less lonely. The woman still knows her and she still loves her. She's still got some sass in her, despite the hollow look her eyes have behind them. There's enough of Regina there to keep her hopeful. To keep her amused despite not being able to touch. There's plenty of things they need to discuss anyway. How to get her back to her body. What happened to her when her soul went through the breach. What they can do to help ease the anguish that bleeds through into her expressions. Hell, Emma still has apologizing to do for everything that happened when they found Ashley. There's all sorts of things they need to talk about, all sorts of things to dicuss.

"So," Regina starts, when the silence has been dragging on for a while – and for a moment she almost, truly seems herself again, "did you ever find out what it was that our son was reading?"

And then, of course, there's _that_.

**SQ*SQ*SQ**

**In theory, this is the first in a series. There is room for more and inspiration for more in my head. So if you beat me with sticks, I may deliver. Until then, thank you for reading this monster. I bow down to your patience.**


End file.
